Crossing the Canal
by MushroomAnn
Summary: Harry is trying to find himself, and Draco is trying to hide away. An unexpected meeting in Amsterdam teaches them that the past is nothing but water under the bridge, and that sometimes, what you need most is just a bit of bad luck. SLASH!
1. Bad Day Turned Worse

Title: **Crossing the Canal** (chapter 1/7)  
Summary: Harry is trying to find himself and Draco is trying to hide away. An unexpected meeting in Amsterdam teaches them that the past is nothing but water under the bridge, and that sometimes, what you need most is where you never thought to search.  
Disclaimer: I wish Harry Potter was my idea, but it's not. I borrowed it from JKR.  
Betas: anthimaeria, bewarethesmirk, and lilyfirebolt. I was incredibly lucky to have them with me. They encouraged me, gave me the concrit I needed, and were patient with all my pedantic questions and silly grammar/spelling mistakes. Thank you, my wonderful ladies!

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**Bad Day Turned Worse **

Soft hair, soft like silk, tickled his palms as his fingers slipped through the delectable blond strands. His lips lavished the long neck in open mouth kisses, relishing the quickened pulse beneath his tongue, aware that he was the cause of it, hearing his name being sighed lustily into his ear.

"_Harry_."

The voice was in awe - not for his fame as the Boy Who Lived but for him, Harry. The hot, damp body was writhing against him. The man's hands slid down his chest and his stomach as his own hands glided greedily down the other's back, coaxing soft, mumbled words of need from the other man's mouth. His lips grazed up along the jaw line, seeking to swallow those longing words, to keep them between them, to hold on. And then a tongue ran across his bottom lip, tasting him eagerly, and he was moaning aloud.

Moaning for...

_Fuck_.

He was daydreaming again. Harry hid his flaming face behind a comic book, thankful his Camouflage and Concealment instructor could not see him right then; he would have been kicked out of Auror training, Famous Harry Potter or not.

Only this was no Dark Wizard he was dealing with. It was a Muggle, and not just any Muggle, but one of the finest male specimens Harry had ever encountered: tall, with long and shiny blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and dimples that made Harry's heart skip each time he smiled. _Perfect_.

The strategy Harry came up with was simple. Go over there, say something witty, ask the man out. He decided a cup of tea would be a good idea. It was safe and conventional and it would hint at Harry being a British tourist. People usually liked tourists. Next Harry would take him somewhere small and romantic, act polite and charming, pay for everything, and they would move on from there; preferably to Harry's hotel room. _Yes, good plan_, he nodded to himself. All he had to do now was open his mouth and say the words. After all, he was Harry Potter; he had fought dragons and killed Voldemort. This could not possibly be any harder.

He gave the Lycia-clad men one last appreciative glance and laid down the comics. His insides warped and writhed like snakes. He had never done this before; marrying Ginny right after the war saved him the awkwardness of asking people out. He breathed in and exhaled slowly as he forced himself to walk over to the blond, trying to organise his thoughts and come up with the best opening line. Sadly, as he drew nearer, his entire detailed plan somehow lumped itself into one word upon passing his lips - "Tea?"

The young man behind the counter looked up and frowned. "Um… we don't serve tea; this is a bookshop." He chuckled. "We sell _books._"

Harry's cheeks burned. "I meant…" He licked his lips nervously. "I meant if you would… er… like to have tea with me? Maybe?" He allowed himself a small hopeful smile.

The other man's smile, however, vanished. "Hmm… I see," he said. "But I can't, I'm working."

"Of course." Harry laughed and it came out more breathless than he would have liked. "I didn't mean _now_. When are you free?"

"Sorry," the blond said warily, "I'm busy afterwards, too."

Comprehension hit Harry like a bucket of icy water – he was being turned down. A girl nearby giggled and Harry could have sworn she was laughing at him. A quick assessment of the shop taught him that if he turned left, ran straight, flanked the bookstand, and leaped over the bench – he could jump out of the window and never need to show his face ever again. _But it's only three floors down_, a rational voice in is head reminded; he would probably end up with a broken leg and mortification worse than he was currently experiencing. He took a few steps back. "Oh. OK then. Sorry I…" He shook his head as words failed him, turned on his heel, and raced down the stairs and as far away from there as he could before the stitch in his side made it too painful to breathe.

He vowed never to humiliate himself like that again.

o-o-o

Harry's holiday in Amsterdam was _not_ going as he had expected.

His new plan was to wait for someone to approach _him,_ while in the meantime he was wandering the streets in what he hoped were his best clothes. He was walking behind two blokes he suspected were a couple. He was not stalking them on purpose - it was not his fault that his legs were carrying him wherever his eyes roamed, which just happened to be in the direction of fine-looking men.

They paused to look at a shop window and Harry stopped as well, pretending to be interested in a collection of capsules and cacti on a shop window farther down the narrow road. He peeked at the couple from the corner of his eye as they stood there and talked, a striped rainbow-coloured flag from an upstairs flat fluttering merrily above their heads. They seemed so happy and content with their bodies turned slightly towards each other, their shoulders touching shamelessly…

A pang of jealousy speared through him. _It's not fair_ rolled on and on like a mantra through his mind. What they had was exactly what he wanted, but as days passed by he believed more and more that he would never have it. It was his third day in Amsterdam, a city known for its large gay population, but his expectations - to be surrounded by admiring beautiful young men, same as he was with the ladies back home – never came to be. He could not understand it; it should have been so easy.

_But this is not the wizarding world_, he had to keep reminding himself. Here he was no war hero – the Boy Who Saved the World. Here he was nothing but a simple bespectacled bloke with an unremarkable scar and dreadful hair. If _he_ were somebody else, he would not have given himself a second glance either.

The couple started walking again but Harry did not follow. A numbing heavy weight settled in his stomach and he turned the other way to walk along the Singel canal. A grey cloud covered the sky and he wondered whether it was going to rain again as it had for the last couple of days since he arrived. It _should_ rain; it would definitely fit his mood. He hugged himself tightly. It was cold and he had left his coat in the hotel room, foolishly believing it would be a sunny, warm day. The harsh wind mussed his hair, but he did not bother trying to smooth it down again. What was the point if nobody noticed him anyway?

He walked with his head bowed, seeing nothing but the crooked cobblestone pavement ahead, lost in self-pity.

A fat ginger cat meowed at him from the nearby geranium flowerpot it was sitting in. Harry glared at it and kept walking. Maybe divorcing Ginny was a mistake, he thought. After all, unsatisfying sex is better than no sex at all, and at least with her he did not come back to a cold empty bed every night. Maybe this new Gay Thing was not right for him after all, no matter what his fantasies were. He could still return to her, ask her to take him back, and live unhappily ever after. Unhappily must be better than alone.

When the sun peeked from amid the clouds again, Harry looked up to see he was near the big remarkable building of the central station. It seemed his subconscious made the decision for him - he should return to London.

Right after a visit to the new broomstick exhibition, which he told everyone was the reason for this trip.

He watched the incoming tourists carrying their backpacks and suitcases as they took in their surroundings with wide, bright eyes, and wondered whether they too would leave the city with broken dreams.

He checked the broomstick exhibition leaflet that the exclusive Frequent Flyer club had owled him. The address was unfamiliar, probably somewhere farther from the centre. He hesitated whether to ask a large group of noisy teenagers for directions, but then spotted a tall blonde woman in a chequered skirt and black boots standing with her back to him not too far from there, and decided she must be local and could probably help him.

A tram came rushing from the other side. The woman was standing right on the tramlines and the blue electric train was speeding towards her, but she did not seem to notice. Harry's _saving-people-thing_ kicked into action. He sprinted over there, grabbed her by the waist, and a second before they were both hit, he heaved them out of the way and they fell in a heap on the ground.

Harry untangled himself and stood, reaching a hand to help the woman. That was when he realised it was _not_ a woman - it was a young man, about his age, with sharp features and cold, grey eyes. Very familiar grey eyes. _Oh no_.

"_Malfoy_?" Harry could not believe it_. I should have seen it coming_, he thought bitterly. Whenever it seemed as though nothing more could go wrong – it always did.

"YOU!" barked Malfoy. "Great," he threw up his hands in exasperation, "My day just keeps getting better and better."

"What are you doing here?" asked Harry, still shocked.

"Being pummelled by you, apparently," Malfoy accused, brushing and straightened his jacket, and shaking dirt off the folds of his skirt.

Harry groaned. It seemed that Malfoy had not changed much since he left Hogwarts four years ago. He still managed to get on Harry's nerves quite easily. "You should be thanking me, Malfoy, I saved your sorry arse; you were nearly hit by that train!"

"Do you think that merely because _you_'re blind, we all are? I can see there are no tracks here, and I'm not stupid, trains must move on track-" Another tram passed behind Harry, right where Malfoy was standing only a minute ago. The gush of wind it made in its wake blew blond strands into Malfoy's wide, stunned eyes. He was frozen on the spot.

"See?" Harry grinned smugly. "I saved you."

Malfoy glared, but it was not very intimidating since he kept sneaking glances around to where the tram emerged.

Harry decided to change the subject to what he was more curious about. "So… Why are you wearing a skirt?"

"It's not a skirt, it's a _kilt_," Malfoy explained slowly as if Harry was extremely dumb, which was probably what Malfoy thought.

And maybe he was, because Harry really could not understand the difference. To him Malfoy still look like a bloke in a knee-length skirt. "Whatever," he shrugged. "Are you here for the broom exhibition, too?"

"Of course I am, Potter," Malfoy said. "What else would I be doing in this Muggle-infested place," he added darkly under his breath.

Harry heard him. "You still have a problem with Muggles, Malfoy? Because if you do…" he lowered his voice, "Maybe I shouldn't have defended you in your trial."

"Too late, you already did," Malfoy drawled.

Harry leaned closer. "And you think they wouldn't believe me if I changed my mind about you?"

"You wouldn't do that," Malfoy said, but there was a bit of a question in the tilt of his voice. Uncertainty.

Harry smirked triumphantly. "Oh really?"

Malfoy tightened his jaw, but did not comment. He looked away from Harry. He had every reason to fear – they both knew that one word from Harry Potter was enough to throw Malfoy in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Harry's testimony in Malfoy's favour was the only thing that kept him out of that prison.

Harry decided to let it slide. For now. "Do you know where the exhibition is?" he asked. Maybe something useful would come out of this unfortunate meeting.

"You don't even know where it is? Ha! How pitiful," Malfoy mocked.

Harry's patience drifted away with each passing second. Malfoy was impossible. "Fine, I'll find it on my own. I bet you don't know where it is either." He turned his back on Malfoy and walked away.

"I do too!" Malfoy called. There was a sound of rustling fabric and Harry turned to see Malfoy taking a Frequent Flyer Club leaflet out of his pocket and straightening it with a flourish. "It's in -" Malfoy squinted and read slowly, "Lijn … baans… gracht… _Lijnbaansgracht!_" He raised his head and flicked back his hair, smiling a tight-lipped, arrogant smile that Harry had the urge to wipe off.

"I know the address, you twit, I got that leaflet too." Harry rolled his eyes. "What I meant was - do you have any idea how to _get_ there?"

Malfoy looked left and right, then back at the leaflet and then looked around again, as if looking for a big sign to pop up and show him the way.

"This is useless." Harry sighed and turned away again, determined to buy a map and find the exhibition by himself.

There were footsteps behind him and after several minutes it had not stopped, Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Malfoy staring back at him impassively. "Why are you following me?" he asked slowly.

"Don't flatter yourself, Scarface, I'm not _following you_," Malfoy said in that maddening contemptuous voice of his. "I just happen to be heading in the same direction."

Harry breathed deeply in attempt to calm down and kept going, wondering what else could go wrong in this nightmare of a day.

Due to his recent bad luck, Harry chose not to go along the canal lest he fall in. Instead, he went through the busy shopping street, with Malfoy following a step behind. He did not like this street; it was too noisy with all the tourists and the loud music that emerged from the shops. Being surrounded by too many people was not as difficult as it used to be three years ago after the war, but it was still making him nervous and uncomfortable. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his pulse speeding up as he made his way through the crowd. It was a test, one of many that he forced himself to go through, and he refused to give in. If he wanted to become an Auror, he had to fight his demons.

A piercing shriek cut through the noise of the busy street. Harry turned, reaching for his wand by instinct, ready to attack. But it was only Malfoy – completely unharmed, yet white as a ghost.

"Is that - is - is that -" Malfoy stuttered at a shop window, his whole body shaking like a leaf. Then, abruptly he bellowed, "Those Muggles are crazy!" and made to run, crashing straight into Harry.

Harry grabbed Malfoy by his shoulders, and held him at arm's length. "What's wrong with you? Calm down!"

"Potter, they _cut_ people up, they're insane!" Malfoy's face was chalk-white and he looked as if he was going to either burst into tears or throw up. Harry hoped it was neither; he was not keen to be covered in Malfoy's vomit, and crying people unnerved him.

"I must get out of here, let go of me!" Malfoy yelled. As he squirmed, trying to escape, a group of loud boys passed by and one of them hit Malfoy with his backpack. Malfoy yelped and leaped into Harry's arms again, clinging tightly. "Do something," he mumbled into Harry's chest.

Having another man so firmly against him like that was making Harry's body react in the most inappropriate of ways. He tried to detach Malfoy from himself, but Malfoy refused to let go. "Are you on drugs or something?" Harry asked. "Because I don't know what you're talking about."

Malfoy pointed a trembling finger at the nearby shop window. With his face still buried in Harry's jumper he said, "They sell body parts. _Human_ body parts." He lifted his head to stare at Harry with wide, grey eyes. "I mean, it's one thing to sell fingernails or bones or even mummified hands, but this?" He gulped. "It looks - it looks – _fresh_," he finished in a tiny voice.

For a long minute, Harry stared at the huge and very realistic-looking vibrator Malfoy was pointing at. He blinked. He tried not to laugh, he really did, but he failed. "It's just a toy, Malfoy," he explained, sniggering, "You know – a _sex _toy."

Malfoy crossed his hands protectively over his crotch. "They chopped up someone's penis so they could use it as a _toy_, And you think it's _funny_?"

"No, I think _you're_ funny," said Harry, still cackling. "It's not real. It's made of plastic or something, it just looks real. See?" he pointed at another vibrator, "this one doesn't even look real, it's blue and shaped like a dolphin."

Malfoy looked over the display, his gaze darting from one item to the next. "Are you sure? It's just… Transfigured to look like that?" he asked sceptically. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Or are you only saying that to protect the Muggles you love so much?"

Harry sighed. Malfoy was beginning to irritate him again. "First of all, I don't _love_ them; some are bad and some are good, just like wizards. And secondly - are you completely ignorant? Muggles can't _Transfigure_, they can't use magic, remember?"

Malfoy sneered. "Oh yeah? Well if you're so smart, then how did they make it without Transfiguration? Or was that a lie?"

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose and wondered if a hag had cursed Malfoy's voice to be the most annoying sound on Earth. "I suppose they made it by using a cast or something, which some bloke probably modelled for, being coated with plaster and…" He lost his train of thoughts as he imagined that model, the man who carried _that_ around in his pants, and how he would love to meet him and… and… He shook his head trying to clear it and shifted uncomfortably. He missed his robes, those tight jeans were far too revealing. He noticed Malfoy was staring at him with a raised eyebrow, and remembered he was in the middle of saying something. "So, er… that's that, and, er… yeah," he finished weakly.

"So the freakish Muggles won't hurt me? Promise?" Malfoy asked, still clutching his crotch.

"Yes, you're perfectly safe. Now stop fondling yourself in public," Harry said and tugged at Malfoy's wrists until Malfoy reluctantly dropped his hand to his sides. "C'mon, let's find the exhibition before we're late."

o-o-o

About five minutes later, far too soon in Harry's opinion, Malfoy spoke again. "Honestly, Potter, is there anywhere you're not famous? This is becoming ridiculous!"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. What was the little nuisance's problem this time? He frowned at Malfoy, making sure his exasperation showed.

Malfoy snorted. "Of course you're too used to it, you don't even notice anymore." At Harry's confused look, he added, "Everyone is gawking at you, it's highly annoying," he drawled.

Harry looked around, and saw that yes, people _were_ staring, but… "They're not looking at me, you dolt, they're looking at _you_!"

"Preposterous. Why would they be looking at _me_ like that?"

"I can't tell for certain," Harry said with a feigned air of contemplation, "But my guess would be it has something to do with the fact that you are wearing women's clothing."

Malfoy stopped walking. "Pardon?"

Harry turned to face him. " Amsterdam is a very liberal city, but it's still uncommon to see men stroll around in skirts," he said and waved at Malfoy's outfit.

"It's not a skirt, it's a kilt!" Malfoy declared again with his hands on his hips. "Muggle _men_ wear them, I've seen pictures." He raised his chin. "Pictures of very _manly_ Muggles, with muscles and whiskers... Soldiers even. And they were wearing kilts, just like mine."

Harry held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm not judging you. If drag is what does it for you, fine by me." He glanced down Malfoy's body. "You definitely have the legs to pull it off," he added, only half joking.

Malfoy did not have a chance to respond, because as if on cue, a spiky-haired girl came up to them and Harry noticed she too was wearing a tartan-patterned skirt, almost identical to Malfoy's. She smiled brightly. "_Love_ your outfit," she told Malfoy, giggled in that irksome way girls always did, winked, and disappeared again amongst the crowd.

Malfoy blinked a couple of times, looking stunned. "Why… why is the only other person here wearing a kilt is a female?" he asked in a flat voice.

Harry shrugged. "Told you so."

Malfoy made a sound very much like a whimper. Then he seized Harry's arm. "Switch clothes with me! Please, I'll do anything, I'll give you a thousand Galleons. You'll like it, it feels just like wearing robes, c'mon!" he pleaded.

Harry smirked. "I'm not into drag, sorry." He was beginning to enjoy himself. Malfoy _was_ a bit irritating, but very entertaining as well. It helped Harry put his mind off his own problems.

"But you must! I can't walk around dressed like this." Malfoy's grip on his arm tightened painfully.

"You've done so this far," Harry said, not even trying to hide his amusement. But the desperation in Malfoy's eyes and his pouting lips won over Harry. Damn this _saving-people-thing_. "Why won't you just buy a pair of jeans or something?" he offered.

Malfoy brightened. "Like yours? I can do that! Where?"

Harry steered him into the closest clothing shop. The curly-haired shop assistant grinned at them, shamelessly looking up and down Malfoy's body. "Just give him some trousers, please," said Harry.

"Anything more specific?" she asked, still grinning.

"Anything but a skirt," was Malfoy's unhelpful response.

"Why? It looks so good on you," she said. Harry wondered if that grin was affixed to her face with a Permanent Sticking Charm.

Malfoy however seemed pleased. "It does, doesn't it? I knew it, it _is_ manly!" he said and puffed up his chest.

"Oh. Manly? Is that the look you were going for? I thought it was the other way round," she said. "Well, I'll go get you some nice jeans."

Malfoy scowled. "Men wear kilts!" he shouted after her.

She came back holding three pairs of jeans. "You're right, some men wear kilts and yes, they even manage to look masculine."

"Exactly!" Malfoy agreed. Then he frowned. "So I do look masculine?"

"I said _some_ men." At Malfoy's puzzled expression she added, "Sorry, dear, but you're no Sean Connery."

Harry burst out laughing. Malfoy still looked puzzled and mouthed _who?_ at Harry as he took the offered trousers.

When Malfoy came out of the dressing room and posed in front of the big mirror, Harry could not prevent his gaze from gliding over Malfoy's jeans-clad arse. _I must be extremely horny if I'm checking out Malfoy_, he thought to himself. Though he had to admit - Malfoy's backside made a lovely view.

The shop assistant caught Harry's eyes in the mirror and winked, and he hastily looked away. Malfoy noticed nothing. He was too busy twirling

"I'll take them all." Malfoy withdrew from his pocket a large velvet bag that reminded Harry of the Triwizard winnings.

The girl eyed the bag curiously. "That would be four hundred seventy seven Gulden."

Malfoy peeked in his bag and bit his lip. "Do you take gold? Or gems? I have some rubies."

For a long minute Malfoy and the shop assistant stared at each other – she in disbelief and he in complete seriousness.

Harry wanted to bang his head against the wall. He quickly pulled Malfoy aside. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

"I'm trying to pay, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Don't you have Muggle money?"

"It's not like I'm trying to pay in Galleons! I have real gold bricks, and I _know_ Muggles value gold."

"Not in shops they don't." Harry grunted. "You are so gormless, Malfoy, I'm surprised you survived this long." He took out his wallet and paid.

They left the shop and Malfoy promised to pay him back.

When Malfoy started complaining how uncomfortable the jeans were and how confining they were around his privates, Harry lost his temper and rounded on him. He held a silencing finger to Malfoy's lips. "Shut. Up," he said through his teeth. "Or I'll hex them off, and leave you to toddle around in your boxers. Or knickers. Who knows _what_ you wear down there."

Malfoy slapped his finger away. "Take your fingers away from my face, who knows where it's been." He glared. "And don't you threaten me, I'm not afraid of you. And for your information – it's neither," he added, flicking his hair away from his face. Nevertheless, he did not complain any longer, and at last, Harry had some peace.

Harry bought a map of the city and led the way while Malfoy kept quiet, occasionally hitting Harry with his shopping bag and pretending not to notice, until Harry decided he had enough and forced Malfoy into a reeking public toilet – a spiral structure in the middle of the street – and ordered him to shrink it.

o-o-o

An hour later, they found themselves in front of a small parchment sign indicating where the broomstick exhibition was supposed to be:

_The Broomstick of the New Millennium Exhibition has sailed away. _

_Ha! You missed it! _

_Better luck next time..._

For a long minute Harry and Malfoy stared at it, jaws dropped, and unblinking. They finally arrived and all they found was this note levitating in midair.

"Er… it's open tomorrow too, right?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, but today was the _opening_," Malfoy whined, "with the unveiling of the new broom and a show-game of the Dutch national team."

"Fuck." Harry kicked a small patch of grass that grew between the pavement tiles. He would need to stay in Amsterdam for another day.

"Now what?" Malfoy asked.

A police car passed by, its siren ringing in Harry's ear long after it was gone from sight, giving him a headache. "Sitting down to eat would be nice. I've been walking around all morning," he said, rubbing his temples.

They went searching for a restaurant. Harry wondered why Malfoy was still there with him, but did not voice the question. Malfoy was not his first choice of a companion, but at least he was not alone any more.

"So… are you training to be an Auror?" Malfoy asked as the silence grew heavy.

"Yes, I still have one year left; I started right after finishing with my NEWTs."

"Hmm." Malfoy frowned, but said no more.

"What about you? Do you work?" he asked, trying to keep a civil conversation going.

Malfoy guffawed. "Are you serious? I'm the head of the Malfoy family now. You probably can't even _fathom_ how rich I am." He snorted. "Work... _Me_. What a ludicrous idea."

"What do you do then? Sit on your arse all day long?" Harry asked, more out of envy than annoyance. He wished he too could have more free time for himself.

"_No_. I do… stuff," Malfoy said. "I read, fly around the grounds, supervise the family's properties… Oh, and I'm going to be married soon," he added in an afterthought.

"Really? Do I know the bride?" Harry could not help feeling sorry for her, being stuck with Malfoy for the rest of her life.

"I doubt it. She's from South Africa." Malfoy shrugged in a bored kind of way.

"What's she like?"

"Oh, she's perfect." Malfoy said, jutting his chin in approval. For a moment, Harry thought he was about to hear a rampant depiction of love. However, he was wrong… "She comes from a respectable pure-blood family," Malfoy continued, "healthy, good genes, well-mannered, tall, educated, has even teeth -"

Harry put up a hand to stop him. "Are you talking about your fiancée, or a horse?" he asked, feeling even sorrier for the woman.

"She must be fit to bear me an heir, Potter"

"And by heir you mean a _baby_, right?" Harry corrected, incredulous.

"Well, I'm not going to leave the Malfoy fortune to the family pet, am I?"

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Do you even love her?"

Malfoy stared at him, scrunching his nose. "What's _that_ got to do with anything?"

Harry was too stunned to answer.

"I was supposed to spend this weekend with her in Paris, but I wanted to see the new broom, so I had to cancel," Malfoy said as they continued walking.

Harry frowned. "It's not that important. The exhibition's coming to London next month; you shouldn't have cancelled just for that."

"Oh, is it? If it's not that important, then why are _you_ here?"

"Because I wanted to -" _I wanted to have wild random sex with men_ seemed like too much information - "to see the sights."

They reached what seemed like a decent Italian restaurant and sat at an outdoor table at the bank of the canal. Harry laid his head on the backrest and sighed. It felt good to rest his feet. They ordered and watched the boats in the canal beneath them while waiting for their food.

"It's almost like Venice in here, with all the water," Malfoy said.

Harry had never had the chance to leave Britain before now. "Is it? I've never been there. Was it nice?" He knew that Malfoy spent a long time in Italy, hiding from Voldemort and the Ministry with his mother.

Malfoy shrugged one shoulder. "I didn't go out much. Mother was paranoid, wouldn't let me leave the palace."

"Wait a minute." Harry sat straight in his chair. "_Palace_?" He could not help the twinge of resentment he felt, imagining Malfoy lazing about while he and his friends engaged in bloodied battles, saving the world.

Malfoy waved a hand in dismissal. "It's not as good as it sounds. We didn't have house-elves and we could only hire one servant at a time. A _Muggle_ servant that we had to keep Obliviating so he wouldn't tell anyone. It was awful."

"Only one servant? You poor, poor thing," said Harry in mock sympathy.

"I _know_!" Malfoy completely missed the point. "Well, we're back in the Manor now so everything's all right. But let me tell you, you really learn to appreciate the important things in life when they're taken away from you."

Harry thought about the people he lost in the war, people he should have appreciated more when he still had the chance, and scowled. "By _important things_ you mean good service?" he asked, appalled.

"Exactly."

A sour-faced waiter brought their food and saved Harry the hassle of rising and tossing Malfoy into the water. It amazed Harry how he and Malfoy, two people of the same age, had nothing in common. He used to wonder whether Malfoy would be better once he got to know him, but now that he spent some time with him, he realised Malfoy was even worse.

Harry shook his head in disgust and stabbed his ravioli with his fork.

**_TBC _**

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Author's note: Reviews are most appreciated. Please feel free to be as brutally honest as you like. Concrit is love. Thanks for reading! 


	2. Pride and Prejudice

Summary: Harry is trying to find himself and Draco is trying to hide away. An unexpected meeting in Amsterdam teaches them that the past is nothing but water under the bridge, and that sometimes, what you need most is where you never thought to search.

Pairing: Harry/Draco (slash!)

Disclaimer: I wish Harry Potter was my idea, but it's not. I borrowed it from JKR.

Betas: infoanthimaeria, bewarethesmirk, and lilyfirebolt - the most wonderful betas anyone can ever ask for! Thank you, ladies! ♥

And another special thanks goes to hpbritglish.

* * *

**Pride and Prejudice**

"Oh my, what a hideous woman!" Malfoy exclaimed.

Harry nearly choked on his bite of cold, stale pasta when he saw to whom Malfoy was referring - the couple he was following earlier that day. He ducked his head and hid his face with his hand as they passed by, walking with their arms around each other. "Don't be thick Malfoy, that's a _man,_ not a woman," he whispered. "He has sideburns."

"Can't be," Malfoy said decisively. "Didn't you see how…" he paused to search for a word, "_cuddly_ they were?"

Harry lowered his fork. "Don't tell me you've never heard of homosexuality before! I understand you've never seen sex toys, the wizarding world doesn't have it, but it _definitely_ has homosexuals." At least that was what Hermione assured him when he voiced his fear of being the only one.

Malfoy's eyes widened briefly, and then they were back to their permanent narrow glare. "I know what homosexuality is." He lowered his voice. "But if they were… _that way_, they wouldn't have been flaunting it around like that as if it was… as if it was..." He seemed to be at a loss for words.

"What?" Harry snapped, "As if it was what? _Normal_?"

"Yes. They wouldn't have done that."

Anger flared within Harry. He never dared to say anything when his friends joked about queers and poufs, no matter how much it hurt, because he did not want them to know. But there was no way he was going to sit there and listen to _Malfoy_ criticise his lifestyle. "There's nothing wrong with being gay, Malfoy! Though I don't know why I'm surprised. You always were a narrow-minded arsehole." Malfoy gaped at him, and when he opened his mouth to retort, Harry cut him off. "Guess what? This is not your little pure-blood world; in this city, bigots like you are a minority, so I suggest you keep your filthy mouth shut."

For a full minute Malfoy stared at him with raised eyebrows. Then he regained his composure and clapped his hands three times. "Bravo. What a lovely speech. So what is it now?" He gave a mock pondering look and began to count off on his fingers as he spoke. "Let's see, we had: Harry Potter, protector of the giants; Harry Potter, protector of the werewolves; Harry Potter, protector of Muggle-borns; and now - Harry Potter, protector of the queers. A hero's work is never done," he drawled. "Tell me, Potter, don't you ever tire of playing the hero? Why do you care about them anyway?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Maybe because I am one," he said, too furious to care about discretion.

Malfoy brandished his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, you are the Chosen One. We know already, no need to repeat it." He rolled his eyes. "For heaven's sake, Potter, the Dark Lord's been dead for three years now, move on already."

Harry had to close his eyes and count to ten in order to calm himself enough not to break the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy by Transfiguring Malfoy into a Flobberworm in front of Muggles. "Not the _Chosen_ One, you moron," he explained slowly, "I _am_ one. Queer." At Malfoy's confused expression, he lost his patience completely and shouted, "I'M _GAY_!"

Malfoy stared dumbly at him with his mouth gaping like a fish, and suddenly Harry realised what he had just done. It felt as if a Bludger had hit him hard in the chest. He had never said those two words before. He had admitted to them in his mind, but never aloud. Hermione was the only person in the world who knew about him, and only because _she_ confronted _him_ about it first. And now… now he had gone and told Malfoy, of all people - Malfoy who would probably run straight to the _Daily Prophet_. Harry grimaced at the idea of finding himself on the front page of a special evening edition. His hands started shaking and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

Malfoy seemed to find his tongue. "Bollocks," he said. "You were married to that Weasley. The _female_ Weasley," he added, as if Harry could forget the person he was married to for over two years.

Harry stared into his plate. He had lost his appetite. "Yes, and then I divorced said female Weasley," he told his remaining pasta, reluctant to meet Malfoy's eyes.

"But that's impossible! If you were gay, it would've been all over the papers. I would've seen it."

"Nobody knows about it yet. I… I planned to come out when I had a boyfriend." _When I wouldn't need to go through it alone_.

"Why are you telling me then?" Malfoy asked in a slightly high-pitched voice.

"I dunno," Harry answered truthfully. He fingered the wand in his pocket, wondering whether Obliviating Malfoy was worth the risk.

"So…" Malfoy leaned closer and spoke so quietly Harry could hardly hear him, "You sleep with men?"

Harry could not spot any objection in his expression, only open curiosity, and that surprised him even more than the blunt question. He scratched the back of neck. It was awkward talking about this kind of thing. "Er… I… haven't got around to _that_ part yet."

Malfoy laughed. "Then you're not gay!"

Harry frowned. "What?"

"If you've never done anything with a man, then you can't be gay," Malfoy explained, and resumed eating as if that settled the matter.

"What does it matter how experienced I am? I know how I feel and what I want, and as long as it involves naked men, I'm fairly sure I'm gay," Harry said. "Besides, if what you're saying was true, then a straight person who's still a virgin isn't straight either."

Malfoy chewed and swallowed. "That's different. Of course he would be straight. Being straight is the default."

"That's just stupid."

"No, it isn't. What if you have sex with a man and it's really, really bad and you hate it?" Malfoy asked.

"There's no way I'll hate it."

"You can't know that," Malfoy said. "And as long as you don't do anything about it, you'll continue not knowing, and therefore – remain a perfectly normal, straight bloke." It sounded almost simple enough to work.

"But I've already slept with girls and it wasn't all that great, so I can't be straight," Harry confessed.

"Maybe you haven't met the right girl yet. Hardly surprising considering it was a Weasley." Malfoy scrunched his face as if he was sucking a lemon.

"I've been with others besides Ginny." Harry gave a snort. "You should've seen the end-of-war parties, they were pretty wild."

Malfoy did not seem impressed. If anything, he was scrunching his face even more. "Well, maybe _tarts_, as I'm sure they all were, aren't your type. Or maybe you just don't like sex at all."

"Malfoy, I don't think it's _possible_ for a man not to like sex; it's basically the only thing my friends ever talk about. Well, that and Quidditch."

"Of course it's possible. _I_ don't like it." Malfoy shrugged and returned to his food.

Harry watched him silently for a few minutes. He wondered if it really was possible to be asexual, until he was distracted by a handsome black man who passed their table, his white, frayed denim shorts stopping tantalisingly right below his arse. When Harry managed to unglue his eyes from the man's muscular thighs, he noticed Malfoy's head was turned as well. Suddenly it struck him. "I can't believe this. You're gay too!"

Malfoy's knife slipped from his fingers onto the pavement with a clink. "What? I - No - I -" he stammered. "I am _not_!" His cheeks were turning pink rather quickly. "How dare you? You take that back!" he demanded, pointing at Harry with his fork.

Harry grinned. He knew he was right. "Or what? You'll fork me to death?"

Malfoy's mouth twitched. "I'm not gay," he said in a broody feeble voice.

Something squirmed in Harry's stomach, and it was not the food. Sympathy. The feeling grew more uncomfortable as Malfoy put his head in his hands. "Oh, c'mon, it's not that bad," Harry said, trying to sound cheerful. Not that he cared about Malfoy's feelings all that much, but it was something he could relate to. "So we like men, so what? There are worst things, right? As soon as I'm back in London, I'm going to come out and I'm sure everyone will be OK with it." He bit his lip._ God, please let Ron be OK with it._

Malfoy raised his face to look at him. "You sound like you're proud of it or something."

"Not proud," Harry said, "but not ashamed either." He realised that was not exactly true; he was terrified of those feelings. He could not even bring himself to buy gay porn because he was afraid to be seen. _No more_, he decided. Squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, he made a decision. "You know what? I'm officially coming out. And tonight I'm going to a gay club to celebrate it," he added in an afterthought. He knew about the _Gay Street_, but did not have the guts to go there yet. He was feeling a bit shaky and he took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly. His hands were trembling again.

"What exactly goes on at a club like that?" Malfoy asked in a way that suggested he was not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"I guess there are men there enjoying themselves, drinking… dancing…" _With their hot, sweaty bodies pressed together, groins grinding against each other to the loud beat, minimal clothes and maximum hormones_… Harry shook his head and pushed the mental pictures away. There was no need to build up expectations.

"You're an idiot," Malfoy stated. "Do you realize what would happen if somebody sees you there and recognise you? What would everyone say?"

"If they're going to hold this against me after everything I went through during the war, then… then they can all sod off. I don't care."

Malfoy smirked. "And what would your dear friends say?"

Harry looked down at the table. What _would_ they say? "Hermione already knows and she's fine with it. And Ron… I suppose he'll learn to accept it. We're best mates, he wouldn't chuck it all away just because of that. I think." He gulped. Ron was his biggest worry.

"You're making a huge mistake," Malfoy warned. "The best thing to do is just ignore those inappropriate urges and eventually they'll disappear."

"Like _you_'re trying to do?" Harry asked.

"I already told you, Potter, I'm not gay!"

It was Harry's turn to smirk. "Oh yeah? So why were you checking out that bloke over there?" He nodded towards the man they were both ogling earlier. "Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets."

"I was - I was only looking at his jeans! To… to understand Muggle-wear better," he added quickly but hardly convincingly.

"Yes, if by jeans you mean the huge bulge beneath the zipper. Not that I blame you…" Harry grinned. "It was a nice bulge."

Malfoy's eyes widened before he looked away. "You can't prove it."

Harry's grin slid off his face. "Hey, I'm not going to tell anyone, don't worry about it," he said. The soft, reassuring way in which he spoke these words surprised him. It sounded as if he actually cared. No, he did not care; he just had something personal in common with Malfoy. It was oddly comforting.

Malfoy still would not meet his eyes.

"Let me give you some advice. Don't. Get. Married," said Harry. "I've tried it and it's not as easy as you might imagine. You don't just wear a ring 'round your finger – it's _hard work_. And girls aren't that easy to deal with: they demand attention and want to talk, and cuddle, and show you off to their friends - the same friends they tell every little detail about your sex life, and of course they want sex. And if the sex is bad – which it would be because you're so obviously gay – they start thinking it's _their_ fault and start asking whether they're fat and if their arse has grown larger, and whatever you'll answer will make them cry and scream or tell their older brothers what a chauvinist pig you are, and -" He ceased talking realising that he was rambling, and quite bitterly at that.

Malfoy was finally looking at him again, eyes sparkling with amusement. "That bad, huh?"

"Well, you came to Amsterdam to avoid a weekend with your fiancée, didn't you? And you're not even married yet," Harry pointed out.

Malfoy bowed his head in defeat. "But… it's not like the other choice is any better – living as a lonely outcast."

"You won't be an outcast." _Not any more than you already are in the wizarding world,_ Harry did not say. "And you don't need to be lonely either. You can live with a man."

"There aren't that many queer wizards," Malfoy said.

"That's what I used to believe, but just think about it – if you and I are like that then there must be _loads_ of gay wizards! It can't be a coincidence, right? What are the odds?"

Malfoy thrust his head back and gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Trust me, Potter, this is no coincidence. It's luck._ Bad_ luck," he added, seemingly noticing Harry's confusion. "I must be cursed or something. It's just my luck that the only other wizard in the world who's _that way_ is you."

Harry considered Malfoy's theory. It would certainly fit the course of bad luck he himself was having lately. He hoped it was not so and that the sullen man sitting before him was not his only chance of a wizard-wizard relationship. Then he tried picturing how it would be like, sex with Malfoy. The many months he had spent alone had done wonders for his imagination, and in seconds, images flooded his mind. If only Harry could cover Malfoy's face with a pillow and pretend he was somebody else… Or even better, if Malfoy was facing down on the mattress and Harry was above him… _Mmm, yes, that could work quite nicely…_

Malfoy kicked him under the table. "What are you looking at?"

Harry realised he had been staring at Malfoy and felt his cheeks grow warmer. "Er, nothing," he muttered and looked away, sipping his drink and trying to hide his face behind it.

They looked over the peaceful water in the canal beside them, at the passing boats with their passengers bathing in the caressing sunlight, and at the fluffy yellow ducklings swimming behind their parents.

Malfoy scowled. "Life stinks."

0-0-0

Harry stopped at his hotel to pick up his coat, leaving Malfoy to wait downstairs. He was not entirely disappointed to see that Malfoy was still there waiting for him when he came out.

They spent the evening standing outside a nice, quiet pub with large glasses of beer cold in their hands, people-watching - as was apparently the custom in Amsterdam.

Malfoy took a sip. And spit it out. "There's something wrong with this Butterbeer!"

"Because it's not Butterbeer. It's Muggle beer. It doesn't taste as good, but it has alcohol in it," Harry explained with a shrug. He suspected that going to a gay bar while completely sober was a bad idea.

The promise of alcohol and the possibility of inebriation seemed to please Malfoy. Except for crinkling his nose from time to time, he did not complain further about his drink. He maintained a constant commentary on passers-by, mostly nasty remarks and silly impressions.

Harry found it was difficult not to laugh with him, even though it made him feel like a bad person. He blamed it on the beer.

0-0-0

The sky was growing darker and Harry rechecked his map under the soft orange light of a street lamp. According to his tourist guidebook, the street that held most of the gay establishments in the city was near the flower market, just around the corner. The market looked different by nighttime - the colourful flowers and the happy shoppers were gone, leaving the place gloomy and cold. Harry's heart was thumping fast, his insides tied in knots. A part of him wished the other street would be just as dark, that everything would be closed and he would have an excuse to go back to his hotel and hide.

"Are there going to be any other wizards in that club?" asked Malfoy.

Harry sighed impatiently. "You already asked me that, and I already told you - I don't know!" _God I hope there won't be,_ he prayed, flattening his fringe over his scar.

Harry's emotions were torn between anticipation and dread. His resolution to go to a gay club seemed like a bad idea now that they were close to it. He kept smoothing down his tight red, fluffy jumper. That particular polo neck was an old gift from Fleur that he had never wore before because Ron and Ginny said it made him look like a pouf. He figured that would not matter now. Actually, it might even help him send the right message and attract attention, though so far it had not worked.

They turned the corner and froze in their tracks. It was like a completely different world. It reminded Harry the first time he crossed the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron and entered Diagon Alley, finding the place he belonged to from birth, but never had the opportunity to visit before. Harry's mouth fell open. The place was lively and vibrant, filled with people – mostly men – wearing nice clothes, smiling and looking happy under the bright neon lights. Some couples were holding hands or hugging and nobody was looking at them crookedly, as if it was completely normal. Harry took it all in with wide hungry eyes. His heart tightened as a rush of excitement and hope rose inside him. He held his head higher, puffing his chest. Suddenly everything seemed easier and he wanted to be a part of it, a part of this great new world he had found waiting for him right here around the bend. He turned to Malfoy and grinned.

Malfoy looked back apprehensively. "I don't like it here," he said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, go away then. I'm staying," he said and marched onwards without looking back. He went straight to where people were queuing in front of a big black door that he supposed led to a club.

He heard hurried footsteps behind him and then Malfoy was there, blocking his way. "C'mon Potter, let's go somewhere else."

"_No_." Harry sidestepped around him, but Malfoy stopped him again before he managed to proceed much farther.

"Are you going to go in _there_?" Malfoy jerked his head towards the club. "But it looks so… _sleazy_."

Harry glanced at all the people waiting to go inside. They seemed perfectly normal. "No, it doesn't. Look, if you have a problem with it, just go away. Stop pestering me." He pushed past him and joined the queue.

He was really doing it – he was going to a gay club with gay people. People just like him. There was no need to pretend, no need to hide anymore. Harry realised he was holding his breath and released it slowly.

"Hello, pretty ladies!" Harry heard Malfoy shout behind him, and turned to see him flasha fake toothy smile and wink at two horrified girls who were standing there, the only women around. The girls stared at Malfoy and frowned, then looked at each other and moved away to stand farther behind.

Harry was frowning too. "Malfoy, what are you doing?" he whispered.

"Being straight," Malfoy whispered back. "If there are girls here, then there should be some straight men as well."

"Maybe they're lesbians or something," Harry suggested.

"Well, if there are _lesbians_ here, then there _must_ be straight blokes around. You know how they are," he said, his voice bored, as if he could not find the appeal in the situation. "I remember at Hogwarts all the boys fantasised about what the girls must be doing in their dormitories, trying to find ways to get in there and watch." He sniffed. "As if anyone in their right mind would want to see _that_."

Harry sighed in nostalgia. "Yeah, it was the same in Gryffindor. But for some reason I'm sure there were a lot more group wanks in our dormitories than the girls'," he said.

Malfoy smiled wistfully as if remembering a happy moment. "Mmm… group wanks. I remember those."

"_Ugh_," Harry screwed his face. "Didn't you share a dormitory with Crabbe and Goyle?"

Malfoy raised an impish eyebrow. "And with _Blaise Zabini_," he pointed out.

Harry nodded in understanding. Zabini was a git, but there was no denying he was quite fit.

"Besides," Malfoy continued, "you were in a room with Weasley. That must have been gross."

Harry shrugged. "Actually, Ron's pretty hung," he said. He smirked at Malfoy's sputtering and his bulging eyes.

The queue proceeded and Malfoy started fidgeting as they came closer to the door. "Well…" his voice turned louder so everyone could hear. "You'll look for men and I'll be checking out the birds."

Harry snorted. "And by _birds_ you mean roosters, right?"

"Roosters?" Malfoy asked, puzzled.

Harry grinned. "Oh, you know. _Cocks_," he said just as loudly.

Malfoy stared at him, spluttering incoherently, cheeks flushed and eyes huge. Harry wished he had a camera.

When they finally reached the door, Harry had to push Malfoy over the threshold to make him move. The bald bouncer, who looked more like a boulder wrapped in black leather than a human being, raised his eyebrow quizzically, but did not say anything. Once inside, Harry paid for both of them, something he was growing used to by now, and placed his coat in the cloakroom. Malfoy flat out refused to remove his jacket, saying he would not allow the perverts to see him as a piece of fresh meat.

Harry allowed his eyes to sweep over the place. There was a staircase leading up where most of the people were heading and Harry followed them, Malfoy tailing close behind. The music was loud. Harry did not know the Muggle songs, but the beat was fast and in sync with his drumming heart.

They entered the room on the second floor where there was a long bar and a few tables. Harry was part relieved and part disappointed that it was not the sleazy place he had expected: the men were dressed in a normal fashion, most were sitting by themselves, and even the couples were doing nothing but talking. Just like all the straight pubs he had been to. There were even a few girls in there.

He turned to Malfoy and saw that he was watching with some concern the glass wall separating the bar from what seemed to be the dance floor. Behind it, Harry could see a mass of dancing bodies. He grinned_. Now _that_ is what a gay club should be like!_

He touched Malfoy's arm lightly to capture his attention. "Let's go dancing," he said, indicating the door that led to the other side of the glass wall.

"In there? Are you _mad_?" Malfoy cried, but Harry had already started walking, knowing Malfoy would follow him anyway.

The music was much louder in there and everyone around them was moving, dancing, bodies shifting together as one. It was hot and humid. The air felt heavy, making it harder to breathe, and it was crowded. _Too_ crowded. Harry closed his eyes in attempt to squelch down his rising anxiety. _It's OK, it's safe, there are no wizards here, no Death Eaters_, he kept telling himself. He took a deep gulp of air and coughed as he choked on smoke from the smoke-machine.

Someone leaned close to him and grabbed his jumper, and Harry jumped. It was only Malfoy. "I don't like it here, Potter," he whined.

Two men came in through the door and bumped into them without looking back or apologising. "Let's go farther in, we're in the way," Harry shouted over his shoulder to Malfoy. Malfoy shook his head vigorously, but went along as Harry pushed a path thorough the throng. When they reached the other side of the dance floor that was a bit less crowded, Harry stood and looked around. He had never seen such a huge amount of shirtless men, and despite the heat and congestion, he appreciated the display.

A new song started playing and everyone roared and lifted their hands. Harry did not know it, but it was obviously very popular. Malfoy clung to his back as the chaos escalated around them. That was when Harry remembered he did not know how to dance and felt awkward standing like an idiot in the middle of the dance floor, unmoving. He noticed there was a balcony above them, so he caught Malfoy's wrist – there was no point in shouting with all that noise – and pulled him up the stairs.

The balcony was long and narrow; there was hardly any place between the back wall and the railing. It was even more crammed than downstairs, with sweaty half-naked men everywhere: some dancing, some passing through, some standing close together trying to talk over the loud music. The air was foggy and smelled of cigarettes and perspiration, and the bass drummed under Harry's feet, climbing up his spine. He squeezed his way over to look down the railing, Malfoy at his left staring as if hypnotised at the moving lights show. The railing was cold and greasy and Harry removed his hands to wipe them on his jeans. He was disappointed to discover there were scarcely few men in there he fancied, and those he did he feared were probably out of his league. He scowled, remembering the blond from the bookshop.

Malfoy jolted, stepping on Harry's toe, and Harry turned to see the cause of that sudden movement.

Two blokes leaned on the railing besides Malfoy, clinging desperately to each other and grinding toward some common goal. Their hair was plastered against their sweaty foreheads as they kissed passionately, devouring with lips and tongue and teeth. One of them, who had his shirt pushed up his chest, worked his hips feverishly into the other man, pinning him to the railing.

Harry gaped. He had never seen anything like it. He caught a fleeting glint of a nipple ring as the smaller man's hands raked greedily against the other's smooth chest, down his washboard stomach and past the belt, and into the bucking man's pants. The taller man's head flew back, his eyes shut tight and his mouth opened wide, and though his moan was swallowed by the racket of the club, Harry could feel it, like shockwaves through his system, making his mouth wet and his palms sweat, pulsing with the beat of the loud music and his pounding heart, rushing down his back and up his thighs into his hardening cock.

"I need to get out of here!" shouted Malfoy, covering his face with his hands.

"Why? It keeps getting better and better," said Harry, unwilling to miss the show.

"I can't... I can't do this," Malfoy kept saying, apparently to himself, shaking his head frenziedly. He turned around abruptly, and holding a hand in front of him, he pushed his way through the crowd.

"Malfoy, where are you going?" Harry called. Malfoy looked around blindly, his eyes wide, but he did not stop to answer. Harry figured he must be aiming for the exit, but he was heading the wrong way. He tried to grab Malfoy's jacket, but there was too much distance between them and Harry could not reach him. Malfoy looked so small, his fair hair disappearing from Harry's view as he was swept away in the torrent of partying people. A short Asian bloke collided with Harry, nearly knocking him off his feet, and he lost sight of Malfoy. When he spotted him again, Malfoy was at the top of the stairs.

"Where is he going?" Harry muttered to himself. He skimmed a hand through his hair, and followed. His mouth was dry and he was becoming nervous. Strangers were bumping into him, hands touching - hands he could not see because there were too many - all around, surrounding him and leaving him defenceless. He wanted his wand, but could not get it out in the middle of a Muggle place. He deeply regretted his idea of coming to this club. All he wanted was to leave, but first he had to find Malfoy.

At the topmost floor, a few men were queuing in front of what appeared like the door to the toilets, waiting to enter. Harry arrived just in time to see Malfoy elbow them aside and run into the room, leaving them glaring and cursing. Harry went after him, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light. He saw Malfoy looking around, at the urinals on the wall, the small toilet booths, and the toilet paper on the wet floor, until his eyes fell on a black door at the back of the room. He walked to it, pushed it open, and froze. Harry moved behind him. Through the door, he could see shapes of naked bodies moving in a dark room. _The_ Dark Room, he realised. Malfoy walked backwards with his hand covering his eyes, stepped on Harry's toes again and stumbled.

Harry managed to catch him before he hit the dirty floor. With his hands around Malfoy, Harry could feel he was trembling. "Are you all right?" he asked. What was happening to Malfoy was all too familiar, and Harry feared a panic attack of his own was on the way.

"I want to get out of here!" Malfoy yelled again. His eyes were wide and unfocused, staring around himself in panic, and he was breathing too fast.

People were staring at them from the doorway, and one man entered. He curled his lips disapprovingly. "Junkies," he muttered and turned to the urinal. Harry gritted his teeth and ignored him.

With a last wishful gaze in the direction of the Dark Room, Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy, and with one hand wrapped firmly around Malfoy's back and the other in front of Malfoy - keeping anyone from crashing into him - Harry carried him away from there, down the stairs and out to the street.

Once outside, Malfoy broke away from him and went to lean his forehead on a dark shop window across the street. Harry walked slowly towards him, unsure how to react. To pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened, or to try to talk to Malfoy about it, to console him? He cleared his throat. "It's all right, it's over now," he said in a calm, soothing voice, aware that he was repeating what Hermione always did for him when he had panic attacks after the war.

Malfoy was still trembling when he finally turned back to face Harry. "I… I dunno what… what happened to me in there."

Harry wished Hermione was there to help. "Has it ever happened before?" he asked.

"No." Malfoy lifted a hand to his hair and noticed how badly it was shaking. He tried to hold it still with his other hand, but it was shaking too.

Without thinking, Harry caught both of Malfoy's hands with his own, holding them still. Malfoy's eyes lifted to meet his and Harry gulped, noticing the shining wetness in them. "Er," he said, mind suddenly blank. He was always useless in those kinds of situations. Remembering how humiliating it was when Hermione acknowledged his own tears, he decided to do Malfoy a favour and pretend not to notice. "I'm going to retrieve my coat; I'll be back in a minute," he said, releasing Malfoy's hands and taking a step back. "You'll be fine. Just take deep breaths, OK?"

Malfoy nodded. Just as Harry was about to leave, he noticed the display in the dark shop window behind Malfoy – a collection of men's underwear. There were tiny thongs, others from some leather-like material, and some with openings in interesting strategic places. An assortment of anal beads and butt-plugs rested innocently between them. Harry stared at it all for a moment. "Maybe you should wait for me over _there_," he said and steered Malfoy away from the shop before he could notice what was in there and freak out again. He squeezed Malfoy's shoulder reassuringly, trying to hide how awkward he felt. "I'll be right back. Wait here, don't go anywhere."

When Harry returned with his coat, he was relieved that Malfoy was still there waiting for him. He had not realised that he actually cared. Malfoy had regained his composure, which was lucky because Harry never deemed himself capable enough in this… comforting-people-thing. Saving them was easy, but comforting… mission impossible. He paused a few steps away from Malfoy and noted his eyes were dry now, his clothes and hair immaculate once more. "Er… feeling better?" he asked.

"Fine." Malfoy shrugged, head bowed, scraping the pavement with his toe.

"Do you want to go sit somewhere?" Harry offered.

Malfoy's eyes flicked to a busy café down the street, right next to club. "I'm not going anywhere near there!"

"No, I meant let's go somewhere quieter." Harry indicated Malfoy to follow, and he led them a few streets away from there to a bench overlooking the canal.

They set in silence for a while. A fierce, cold wind was ruffling their hair and drawing wavy patterns on the water surface. Harry was uncertain how to breach the subject. He knew Malfoy had nothing to be ashamed of, aware that compared to his own panic attacks, what happened to Malfoy was a child's game. But Malfoy was a proud man, just like himself, and he remembered how hard it was to be afraid to leave the house, and how embarrassed he was of that fear. He was lucky Hermione was there, helping him to overcome it. Even if it was never _completely_ gone. He wondered if Malfoy had someone like that to help him. "Are you sure it's never happened to you before?" he asked eventually.

"No, never. I think maybe I'm… allergic to Muggles," Malfoy said pensively.

Harry chuckled. "Or _maybe_, you don't like crowds? I mean… it _was_ a bit stifling in there. It's perfectly understandable if it bothered you."

"Or _maybe_, I just don't like being surrounded by perverts, OK?" Malfoy countered and sent a dark look in the direction they came from.

"Oh, please. You are just as gay as they are!" Harry could not understand why his feelings towards Malfoy seemed to fluctuate rapidly between sympathy and aggravation.

"I'm nothing like them!" Malfoy shouted. "I don't want to be like that," he said and his voice cracked just a tiny bit, but Harry noticed.

And there it was… Sympathy. Again. "Nor do I, but there's nothing we can do to change it," Harry said as kindly as he could.

Malfoy placed his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "If Mother finds out -" he choked out.

"If she loves you then she'll accept you as you are," Harry cut in.

Malfoy snorted loudly and turned his face to look incredulously at Harry. "You think she wants a queer son?"

"She probably only wants you to be happy, like every parent."

"You're only saying that because you've never _had_ any parents," Malfoy said, and Harry pursed his lips at the tactless comment. "I can see what would make you think that way. But it's not like that in real life." He paused and sighed. "My mother loves me. A lot. But so did my father… before he found out what I am."

Harry's mouth fell open in disbelief. "How did he find out?"

Malfoy smiled, but it was a sad smile. For a long minute he only gazed silently over the canal, the misty orange streetlights reflecting in his eyes. When he spoke, it was nearly a whisper. "It was during the Christmas holiday of our fifth year at Hogwarts. He entered my room one morning while I was… you know…" He made a vague hand gesture.

Harry understood what he meant and cringed at Lucius' bad timing. "Oh."

"That's not the worst part," said Malfoy and leaned back on the bench again. "I had the Ireland National Team Calendar open in my lap. On the photo of Connolly." He traced his finger over a small graffiti on the bench seat. "I still remember that picture… He was wearing his green Quidditch robes with the top buttons open down to his chest, riding his broom, hands tightly clutching the handle, smiling and winking at me from the photo…" he trailed off, seemingly lost in thoughts.

Harry did not know which picture it was, but he had to agree Connolly was worthy wanking material.

Malfoy sighed. "Anyway, Father didn't… _appreciate_ the picture as much as I did. I've never seen him that furious before."

"Did he hit you?" Harry asked tentatively.

"I _wish_." Malfoy sighed. "No, he just talked, telling me how disappointed he was and what exactly he thought about _those _kind of people. He made it perfectly clear that I am _not_ like that, that no son of his could ever _be_ like that, and that I'd never do or even think about it ever again." His lips twisted. "Then he burnt all my Quidditch posters and magazines, and that calendar of course… Even my _Quidditch Through the Ages_ copy, even though there aren't any pictures of men in that one. I was lucky he left me my broom. And that was only after I protected it with my body and begged him to spare it."

Harry reached out, wanting to squeeze Malfoy's hand, but he dropped his hand before it made contact, unsure of himself. Instead, he shifted and pressed his shoulder to Malfoy's, hoping it would be enough.

Malfoy tilted his head a fraction in Harry's direction, but otherwise did not seem to notice the gesture. "It was never the same after that. I had failed him. He never looked me in the eyes again. When Goyle came to visit me a few days later, Father ordered us to stay within his sight." He snorted. "As if I would snog Goyle if we were left alone."

_So that's what triggered the panic attack_, Harry realised. "Lucius is dead now," he said and Malfoy turned to stare at him.

Harry cringed and wondered when he had become as tactless as Malfoy. Nevertheless, he went on. "He's not here to dictate your life anymore; you're a grown man now. Do what's best for _you_."

Malfoy set his jaw. "No. I will not let the same thing happen with Mother," he said, determined. "Even if it means living a lie and being miserable."

"Maybe your mother is more open-minded," Harry suggested. "She might be fine with it. Women are more accepting, I think. At least Hermione is."

"You're not really comparing my mother to _Granger_, are you?" Malfoy asked with a tinge of warning in his voice.

Harry shrugged mutely and Malfoy looked away.

The silence stretched too heavy. "So… Connolly, huh?" said Harry, trying to lighten the mood. "I like your taste in men."

"Well, who doesn't like handsome Quidditch players?" Malfoy said. He chuckled. "I can't believe I'm telling you all this stuff… I've never talked about it before."

"Who else would you talk to about it? We're in the same boat here. Might as well take advantage of it," Harry said.

Malfoy's shoulders relaxed a little and he slumped in his seat. "Yeah, I s'pose you're right." He smirked. "So… what's _your_ taste in men?"

"Well. Lately I've had a weakness for b-" Harry paused, staring at Malfoy's hair gleaming in the moonlight, and realised admitting his recent fixation with blonds was probably a bad idea. "B - Bald," he said instead, "Weakness for bald men."

Malfoy's neck nearly snapped as he turned to gawk at Harry. "_No_!"

"Er… yeah." Harry scratched his nose avoiding Malfoy's eyes. _Bald men - Is that the best I could come up with?_ He asked himself. "What's wrong with bald men?" was what he asked aloud.

"What do you mean what's wrong with them? They don't have hair!" Malfoy said, cackling.

"But… er… their scalps are smooth and shiny?" Harry tried, though his explanation sounded feeble even to his own ears.

"OK, if you say so." Malfoy laughed and he sounded more open and free than he had been since Harry had met him that morning. "At least we can positively say we'll never need to fight over the same men. You can keep all the shiny-headed ones you want."

Harry smiled. After a few seconds of gathering courage he asked, "Do you want to… er … talk about it?"

"About what?"

"You know… Men. And sex. And sex with men," said Harry, feigning a sudden interest in a nearby tree trunk. "Like…do you have any fantasies and… stuff?" Despite the cold wind, he felt his cheeks warming.

"I can't tell you that!" Malfoy said indignantly.

Harry forgot about the tree. "Sure you can. C'mon, everyone loves talking about sex, and who else can we talk about it with besides each other?" Harry nudged Malfoy's leg with his foot. "Come _on_."

"But it's embarrassing," Malfoy said, though he was smiling coyly.

"I promise I won't make fun of it. I'm just curious." Harry shrugged. "I've never talked with another gay bloke before."

Malfoy bit his lip. "Alright, but you go first. Tell me _your_ fantasy. What do you think about when you're tossing off?"

"Er… me?" Harry wavered. Malfoy raised his eyebrows expectedly and Harry sighed. "OK." He did not need to think long about it - having no actual sex for so long left him with time for a lot of fantasising. His most prominent one invaded his mind almost at once. "I have this… image of me, laying down on my back and… there's that gorgeous bloke-"

"- _Who_?" Malfoy cut in, leaning closer.

"Nobody in particular, just a random man."

Malfoy smirked. "Not Ron Weasley?"

Harry gasped. "Ron? Are you insane?"

"You said he was hung," Malfoy shrugged.

"Nobody ever told you size doesn't matter? Ron's my best mate, _married_ to my other best mate _and_ he's as straight as a broom. I can't believe you even thought that." Harry shuddered. He loved Ron. But not _that_ way. Never.

"Ok, fine. Go on with the story then," Malfoy urged and turned his body towards Harry - elbow on the back of the bench and his chin resting on his palm.

Harry passed a hand through his hair and twisted subtly away from Malfoy's prying eyes. "Well… There's this completely _random_ bloke, and he's wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and pointed cowboy boots. He walks slowly towards me, devouring me with his eyes and I can see it's making him hard just looking at me. I'm already hard, too. Then he climbs up on the bed and straddles me, his thighs on either side of my hips, and he sits _down_. Fast. He takes me in, deep, and just starts to _ride_ me, like a horse." Harry's heart was beating fast and he swallowed, glimpsing sideways at Malfoy from under his fringe.

Malfoy's mouth was open slightly and his eyes were focussed on something in the vicinity of Harry's nose. Then he shook his head and smiled. "That's not half bad. A horse, huh? Interesting."

Harry fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. "I saw a Western film once, with cowboys… I haven't been able to get the picture out of my head ever since," he admitted.

"Film?" Malfoy puzzled.

"A Muggle thing, like many moving pictures. Doesn't matter. Tell me _your_ fantasy," he said, turning eagerly towards Malfoy so they were facing each other.

Two pink blotches blossomed on Malfoy's cheeks. Harry wondered whether it was the chilly air or something else that caused it. He decided that it befitted Malfoy quite nicely.

"If you laugh, I'll kill you," Malfoy threatened.

Harry smiled in encouragement. "I won't laugh."

Malfoy stared at his own hands as he spoke, his voice low, sounding far away. "We have a long, heavy wooden table in our dining room at the Manor. It's covered with a white silk tablecloth and it's always laden with food, even though it's just me and Mother there now. I sit at one edge of the table and my mother sits at the other, and there's a big flower arrangement at the centre and two candelabrums on each side that make it difficult for me to see her."

Harry frowned, wondering what furniture and home décor had to do with sex.

Malfoy licked his lips. "In my fantasy there's somebody else there while we're having dinner. I don't notice him because his footsteps are muffled by the soft rug, and I can't hear him as he's advancing upon me… until, suddenly, he's grabbing me from behind, hauling me up from my seat, and bending me over the table." Malfoy's breaths were becoming more rapid, his voice huskier. "The air smells like food and flowers as he's lifting my robes up to my waist and sees I'm not wearing anything underneath. I know he's pleased, even though I still can't see his face; he won't let me turn around. But he's caressing my bare skin approvingly and leans closer to kiss behind my ear. He's squeezing my arsecheeks until they hurt, but I still my moan so Mother won't hear. His breath is moist against my nape, and his palm is skimming over my back under my bunched robes, one finger tracing my spine, sliding slowly lower, teasing me. I feel his warmth behind me and I arch back, because I can't take it any more, I _need_ him. He complies. Pushing in, filling me inch by inch and it hurts and it's tight and the friction is burning me, but it's so _good_. The sound of flesh smacking flesh is filling my ears, and I can still hear the clashing of china and cutlery from down the table - Mother is still out there eating dinner while he's pounding me hard into that same table, so hard I can't even breathe he's moving so fast, so rough, steadily rocking _in_ and _out_. I feel his hand on my hip, his nails digging painfully into my flesh, but I don't care. His other hand is right next to mine, clutching the table, and I see his arm is shaking. I'm shaking too, shuddering, and I can't stifle my cry as I come all over the tablecloth, white on white, with him still buried deep inside me, his arms around me, holding me close, because otherwise I'd slip right onto the floor."

Malfoy paused to lick his lips. "I feel him coming inside my body, and he's squeezing me tighter, holding me closer as he's groaning in my ear and whispering my name. Then he reaches over gently to clean me with a silken napkin, so cold and smooth against my heated skin. His palms are warm and coarse as he's stroking the inside of my thighs and the curve of my arse and kisses the back of my head goodbye. I never see his face."

Harry found himself staring at Malfoy's mouth as he talked, following the subtle movements of his jaw line, and grasping the edge of the bench so tightly his veins were showing. He was breathing heavily through his mouth, heart pounding wildly in his chest. When Malfoy said no more all Harry could do was gasp out, "Wow…"

Malfoy chanced a furtive peek his way.

Harry disengaged his hands from the bench and passed them shakily through his hair. They were sweating. "_God_, Malfoy."

"You promised you wouldn't laugh," Malfoy said in a warning tone.

"_Laugh_?" Harry groaned, "I think I'm going to come." He pushed the heel of his palm flat against the bulge in his jeans and closed his eyes. He could not remember ever being so aroused without any physical contact. "That was the sexiest thing I've ever heard," he added and reluctantly moved his hand away before he embarrassed himself.

Malfoy's gaze snapped up from Harry's lap, his eyes wide and pupils dilated, but just for a fraction of a moment, before he blinked it away, expression transforming into a jovial grin. "Yeah? You think it was good?"

"What I think is that I need a cold shower," Harry said. And meant it. "To tell the truth – I didn't think you had it in you. I'm impressed." _When did it become so hot?_ He opened his coat.

Malfoy looked pleased. "Well, I always had a vivid imagination."

"No kidding." Harry had no doubt that from now on, every time he wanked he would be thinking of a long table. And probably a very needy blond.

They set in silence, Harry trying to will off his erection and Malfoy smirking in his annoying smug way.

It was gradually becoming cold again, the fierce wind hitting Harry's face mercilessly. He shivered.

Malfoy yawned.

"Tired? Me too. It's been a long day," Harry said and stood up. "Come on, I'll walk you to your hotel." He knew Malfoy would probably be lost if left alone. Not that he _cared_ or anything. But still…

"My hotel?" Malfoy frowned. "I don't own any hotels here."

"I didn't mean your hotel as in _yours_; I meant the hotel you're staying at." Seeing Malfoy's vacant expression, Harry added, "You know – where you made reservations."

"Oh." Malfoy bit his lip and looked away.

Harry stared at him. "Don't tell me you didn't! Where were you planning to spend the night?"

Malfoy studied his feet. "I was in a hurry. It wasn't a planned holiday. And then I met you and everything … and... I just forgot."

Harry raked a hand through his hair. He could leave Malfoy there in the street and go back to his hotel, but… He glanced up and down at Malfoy; he looked so out of place in those Muggle clothes, so vulnerable. And with his stance of a man who was swimming in money - he was practically asking to be mugged.

And there it was again, the old _saving-people-thing_ rising up and taking over. Harry hated when that happened, but never managed to conquer it and now was no different. He raised his eyes in a silent question of _'Why me?'_. The sky was clear and the nearly full moon was shining down on him, apathetic to his pain. He sighed. "Fine. You can sleep in my room tonight if you have nowhere else to go."

"Is it clean?" Malfoy asked haughtily.

Harry pursed his lips. Why was he doing this again? "Yes, it's clean," he said and trudged away without waiting for Malfoy. If Malfoy had problems with it, then he could stay in the streets. It was perfectly fine by Harry.

Two seconds later, Malfoy was pacing by his side.

0-0-0

It was a nice hotel. Not too fancy, but it held everything Harry needed: double bed, television, phone, a small attached room with a bath and toilet, and a round table with two chairs.

Malfoy looked around the room. "_That's it_?"

"If you have a problem with it, you're more than welcome to leave," Harry said, hanging his coat on a chair. He had a feeling Malfoy was pulling a face behind his back and heard him mutter something about 'manor' and 'kitchen dresser'. Harry ignored him and went to wash up.

Having not packed any pyjamas, Harry had to go out clad only in boxers. He avoided Malfoy's eyes feeling inexplicably awkward and self-conscious. Even though he had lived with other boys for years, something about this situation felt different.

Malfoy did not seem to care. Without a second glance Harry's way, he went into the bathroom.

Harry gazed out of the window at the street below. The leaves falling from the tall trees danced mutely in the wind, spiralling downwards around and around until they reached the canal and continued their journey, floating peacefully away on the calm water. So serene. He shut down the window with a thump. Worn-out, he removed his glasses, took his wand, and crawled into bed.

"I hope you don't have lice," Malfoy drawled, closing the bathroom door behind him, "because I used your hairbrush."

"One more word, Malfoy, and I'll stick that hairbrush up your arse," Harry warned. The muscles in his legs cramped. He needed to rest.

Malfoy tilted his head and frowned. "Wait a minute. Why are you in bed, Potter?"

"I suppose I'm one of those rare freaks who prefer sleeping in beds. Who would have guessed?"

"Ha ha." Malfoy glared. "Get out; _I'm_ sleeping there."

"_Pardon_?" Harry braced himself on his elbow. "This is _my_ room and _my_ bed!"

"But I'm the guest! It's basic courtesy!"

Harry's head was throbbing painfully. "Malfoy… I'm tired and I don't like you. I honestly couldn't give a flying fuck where you sleep tonight. As far as I'm concerned, you can get out and sleep on the streets, sleep here on the floor, or on the other side of the bed… whatever. Just shut up already."

Malfoy sneered. "The other side of the bed? As in the bed _you_ are in? To _sleep with you_?"

Harry lay down again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not _with_ me. _God _no. Just _next_ to me." He had no idea why he was being so nice to Malfoy while Malfoy was being a complete git.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Despicable," he spat, and turned his back to Harry as he began to undress. He removed his boots, took off his black tailored jacket, his green jumper, white tee shirt, new jeans…

"Wait, hold on!" Harry jumped and sat up in the bed. "Where –_ where's your underwear_?" he cried, pointing at Malfoy's white naked arse.

Malfoy paused, his jeans gathered around his knees. He turned towards Harry again. "I wasn't wearing any," he said matter-of-factly, and stepped out of his jeans.

"WHY THE HELL NOT?" Harry shrieked. It was a bit difficult keeping cool with a nude Malfoy in front of him.

"I like it that way. Breezy." Malfoy sauntered to the window.

Harry blinked. He did not know what to say to that. He tried to avoid ogling Malfoy's pale bare skin. He tried not to notice Malfoy's long endless legs or his smooth hairless chest. He did not care about the curve of his buttocks or those tortuous hipbones, and he certainly did _not_ pay any attention - any attention at all - to Malfoy's flaccid cock, just hanging there, a little to the right, resting peacefully in a nest of golden curls…

Harry shook his head and closed his eyes briefly, trying to clear his mind. It was distracting. "You do realise people from outside can see you through the window, right?" he managed to say and was proud his voice did not sound as breathless as he felt.

Malfoy smirked and held himself just a little bit taller. "Must be their lucky day," he said, stretching languidly. He made to open the window.

"Don't touch it!"

"But it's _closed_," Malfoy pointed out, completely unnecessarily.

"I know, I closed it. Leave it."

"Why? You have something against fresh air?" Malfoy asked with a hand on his hip and a tilt of the head that reminded Harry of Ginny.

"_No_. I have something against noise at night."

"Don't be thick, there's no noise." Malfoy opened the window. There was the squeak of bicycle wheels, the murmur of faraway babble, the rumble of a motor… "I don't hear anything," he said.

"Then you must be deaf. Now close it!"

"Fine." Malfoy sighed. "It's _your_ room and _your_ window after all," he said, mimicking Harry's deeper voice. "But you'd better not be farting all night." He crept into bed.

They lay as far away from each other as they possibly could without falling off the edges of the bed. Harry mentally cursed his life. Why, WHY of all the men in Amsterdam, did it have to be _Malfoy_ lying naked in his bed?

_**To Be Continued...** _

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Reviews are most appreciated. Please feel free to be as brutally honest as you like. Concrit is love. Thanks for reading! 


	3. Water Sports

Summary: Harry is trying to find himself, and Draco is trying to hide away. An unexpected meeting in Amsterdam teaches them that the past is nothing but water under the bridge, and that sometimes, what you need most is just a bit of bad luck.

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and the people who bought it. I'm not 1 of them.

Betas: anthimaeria, bewarethesmirk, and lilyfirebolt - the most wonderful betas anyone can ever ask for! Thank you, ladies! ♥

And another special thanks goes to hpbritglish.

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**Chapter 3**

**Water Sports**

The darkness was thick as smoke, suffocating, closing in on him. He was trapped inside his skin. No escape. Whispering shadows slithered like ghosts in the cold air and all he could do was lay still, muscles numb with sleep and dread, holding him down like defenceless prey. Completely surrounded. Something was moving nearby, getting closer, close enough to reach…

Harry jerked out of his stupor. He would not let it happen, would not let them be taken again; he had to save them, save himself; nothing else mattered. His heart was thumping fast in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his blood. Moving by instinct, he clutched his wand with one hand, while the other reached to catch the enemy. Somebody screamed and he squinted in the darkness, forcing his vision to clear.

Tousled fair hair, sharp features, wide frightened eyes. "Ma-Malfoy?" Harry panted.

"Let. Go," Malfoy choked out, trying desperately to tug Harry's fingers away from his windpipe.

It took Harry a moment to register where he was. In Amsterdam, in his bed. _Safe_. The relief that washed over him was almost too overwhelming, and he gasped for air like a drowning man pulled out of the water. He slowly relaxed his hands, releasing Malfoy and lowering his wand. Cold sweat covered his body and he shivered.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Malfoy rasped, massaging his neck.

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and rested his head on them, trying to even out his breathing. His arms felt boneless and shaky, and his head was too heavy on his shoulders. "Sorry, I…" he spoke to his feet, "I thought you were… somebody else." _Voldemort, Death Eater, werewolf, Dementor…_

"Somebody else?! Why, do you _usually_ attack the person you're in bed with?"

Harry rubbed at his eyes. "I haven't really had anyone in my bed lately," he confessed. The details of the dream, of the past, flooded his mind. A wave of nausea rose up in his throat, and he breathed slowly and deeply in attempt to squelch it down.

"You nearly killed me, Potter!"

After the divorce, Harry forgot what it was like to wake up from a nightmare with someone else there. It was one of the benefits of living alone – not having to deal with Ginny looking down on him and making him feel like a piteous child. He looked up. "I told you I don't like noise at night, didn't I?"

"What _noise_? It's not like I was singing and jumping on the bed. I only went to the loo!" Malfoy brandished his finger. "Don't you even _dare_ blame this on me."

Harry looked away. He knew it was not Malfoy's fault, but what was he supposed to say? _Sorry, I'm a pathetic excuse of a hero who still can't shake off something that happened three years ago? _He could not possibly admit that to Malfoy of all people. He could already see the mockery in Malfoy's eyes, could hear it in his voice.

Malfoy surveyed him, head tilted to the side. "What's your problem with noise anyway?"

Harry sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, OK? I have some… bad dreams sometimes," _every night_, "and I don't like waking up abruptly." He met Malfoy's gaze. "I'm sorry."

Malfoy's stony expression seemed to soften. "Dreams about the war?" he asked, and his voice was softer too.

Harry nodded. He could feel Malfoy's eyes on him and he looked towards the window, avoiding them. It was a bright night; the moon was nearly full, bathing the room in soft blue light.

"I remember the night the war ended," Malfoy said after a while, as if he had debated with himself whether to say it or not, and decided he should.

Harry was not sure what to make of it. "Oh?"

Malfoy crossed his legs and hunched his back as he sat more comfortably on the bed. "Mother and I, we didn't have any contact with the wizarding world. We thought the Dark Lord was getting stronger, because we felt him calling the Death Eaters almost every day." He rubbed his forearm absentmindedly. "One night I felt the Mark again and I thought it was just like the other times, but it kept worsening, it wouldn't stop burning."

His stare focused on an invisible spot in the corner of the room, as if he could see something Harry could not. "My mother ran into my room, clutching her arm and screaming. She thought the Dark Lord found us and that it was his punishment. That he was torturing us. It felt like hours, and maybe it was - I don't know, the pain dragged on and on. Suddenly it burned as if it was on fire and the skin broke - the outline of the skull just burst open. I'd never felt a pain so severe; we even passed out a few times. My silk bedclothes turned dark red and glutinous from all the blood streaming out of the Mark, and there was that sharp stench, like poison - the kind that scorches your nose. Just as we gave up and were ready to stop it ourselves, about to… to chop off each other's arms, it suddenly stopped. All that was left of the Mark was an inflamed wound."

Harry's stomach turned. He had seen his fair share of gore in his life, but hearing it whispered in the middle of the night in a quiet dimly lit room while on holiday in Amsterdam, made it all too surreal. Sometimes he found himself staring at the mirror, amazed he survived this far. It was still hard to believe the war ended, that it had been three years. He wondered if Malfoy had ever told this story to anyone else.

He placed his wand on the duvet and took hold of Malfoy's left hand, hesitating before he touched the skin between Malfoy's wrist and elbow. The skin was smooth, the Mark nothing but a faded scar, a shade lighter than the rest of the forearm, indiscernible unless one knew it was there. He could not feel pity for Malfoy, but nor could he feel any resentment towards him for letting Voldemort etch it onto his skin. He knew how much Malfoy regretted it. That knowledge was the reason he agreed to testify for Malfoy in the trial.

"Did it ever burn again? Since that night?" Harry asked, still stroking and examining the patch of skin where the Dark Mark once was.

"No," Malfoy said. Harry could sense his eyes on him again. "He truly is gone now."

Harry killed Voldemort himself; he knew he was gone. But still… sometimes when he lay at night, alone with his thoughts, unreasonable fears would surface. "Good," he said and placed Malfoy's hand back on the bed.

Malfoy was still looking at Harry as he spoke. "I never believed the Dark Lord could be defeated," he said in awe. "The morning after that night, I went to the Venetian Wizarding District to find out what happened. I grabbed a newspaper, and there it was, your face, covering the first page with the headline _'Harry Potter Vanquished You Know Who'_." Malfoy laughed, but there was no humour in it. "I'll never forget it. Your cheek was smudged, your glasses were askew and you had that look in your eyes – the one you always had when Snape asked you a question you couldn't answer. And you were a hero. A real one. I always thought you were nothing but an attention seeker, who got lucky a few times and managed to wrap everyone around his finger, and suddenly you go and do the implausible. How?"

_How?_ That was what they all asked. Harry hated that question, the memories were unbearable. "I didn't have a choice. He took my friends; I had to do it. For them."

"I read about it. The Death Eaters kidnapped Weasley and Granger, right?" Malfoy asked as if it was nothing but another trivial detail.

Harry gulped. "Right. Voldemort's entire army against three sleeping teenagers. By the time I woke up and fought the bastards off, Ron and Hermione were already taken." Just thinking about it made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

Malfoy tilted his head, listening keenly. "And?" he prompted.

"And I went after them. I had to. My friends depended on me." He did not have a choice. Never had.

"Always the hero." Malfoy's mouth tugged up at one side, but it was not the mocking smirk Harry was expecting to see. It was… sad. Sympathetic.

He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Harry cut him off.

"I don't like talking about it. And we should go back to sleep."

Malfoy pursed his lips. "_Alright_," he said, the word laced with disappointment.

Harry leaned closer and reached for Malfoy's hand again, needing to see the Markless skin one more time. A small comfort. He trailed the tip of his finger over the thin white line. "Promise me you'll never make another stupid mistake like that again," he whispered.

"I won't," Malfoy whispered back and his breath tickled Harry's cheek.

Harry looked up to find Malfoy's face close to his. Malfoy's eyes lingered somewhere between Harry's chin and nose, and Harry let his own gaze travel down. And then it registered – Malfoy was naked. "Er," Harry said, palms suddenly sweaty. He dropped Malfoy's arm.

Malfoy's eyes snapped back up to his. "Sleep!" he announced. "We… we should sleep."

"Yes, sleep. We should. Late now." Harry figured there might have been something wrong with that sentence, but his mind was much too busy forming wicked thoughts to build grammatically correct sentences. There must be something utterly wrong with him, he decided, if he managed to think about Voldemort one second and about sex in the next. He lay down and pushed his wand under his pillow.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked.

"Going to sleep," Harry answered. He wondered if Malfoy actually expected sex, and squashed the voice in his head that hoped Malfoy really did. He blamed it on the nightly wank Malfoy made him miss. It was not his fault he was wound up with hormones.

Malfoy was sitting and staring at him as if he sprouted a second head. "I meant why do you keep your wand under your pillow?"

_Oh, that._ It was uncomfortable to have Malfoy looking down at him, so Harry sat up. "It's safer."

"What, do you think I'm going to kill you when you fall asleep?" Malfoy asked angrily.

"No. I always keep it there, it has nothing to do with you," Harry answered.

Malfoy snorted. "Always? Even when you're alone?"

"Yes."

Malfoy stared at him. "_Even when you're alone_?"

"Look, I… I like having it at close range. Just in case." Harry realised it sounded paranoid so he added, "It's just an old habit."

Malfoy lifted his hand, palm up. "Give it to me."

"No!"

"Potter, give me the wand," Malfoy ordered. "I'll put it here next to the bed, and if you'll need it I'll hand it over," he tried to reason. "I don't want to die tonight."

"I won't kill you!" Harry protested. "If you won't wake me up," he added quietly.

"_Potter!_"

Harry sighed. "I can't sleep without it, okay? Besides, I can kill you with my bare hands, so it shouldn't matter to you where my wand is."

Malfoy's jaw dropped. He squinted at Harry's hands, as if looking for blood on them.

Harry twisted his hands and hid them in the folds of the duvet. "War has a funny way teaching you things you never thought you could manage," he said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice and failing.

Malfoy bit his lip and nodded mutely, his eyes wide with emotion Harry could not decipher. Maybe it was fear. Harry hoped it was not.

Harry pulled the covers up to his chin and lay staring at the ceiling.

A few minutes later Malfoy spoke again. "Potter?"

"Hmm?" Harry turned in bed to face him.

"I think maybe hiding in a palace in Venice wasn't all that bad," Malfoy said softly, glancing at Harry through his fringe. The explicit words were not there, but Harry understood the meaning. An apology.

Harry turned on his back again. "You should've helped us fight. But at least you didn't stay with Voldemort and didn't fight against me," was all he said. Forgiveness was not easy.

**X X X**

"Wake up, Malfoy, I don't want to be late again," said Harry after finishing with an unusually long morning shower. Recalling all the details of Malfoy's fantasy from the previous day had taken him a few extra minutes, but it was worth it.

Bleary eyed, Malfoy staggered to the shower and Harry rang Hermione. When he spoke to her two days before, he had been drunk, and so dejected and depressed that by the end of the conversation, she made him promise not to do 'anything stupid'. He figured he should probably let her know he was still alive.

"Harry! Oh, thank God, I was worried sick," was Hermione's first reaction to his voice.

Harry opened the window and sat on the windowsill. "Calm down. I'm fine."

"You sound better," she said, a question in her voice.

"I _am_ better. I went to a gay club last night," Harry said, proud of his progress.

"That's wonderful! Tell me everything. Did you meet somebody nice?"

Harry did not remember Hermione as overly nosy when they were younger, but ever since she found out his sexual preferences, she seemed to be taking a special interest in his – still nonexistent – love life. "No, I was only there for a little while. It was too crowded," he said. There was no need to mention Malfoy. Hermione did not need to know Malfoy was there; she might get the wrong idea.

The bathroom door opened and Malfoy marched up to him, wet and stark naked, holding Harry's shampoo. "Is this like a hair cleansing potion? Why can't you have normal wizards' products?" he demanded. Water beads slid down his pale skin, droplets falling from the tips of his fingers, the strands of his hair, the head of his semi-erect cock... Harry licked his lips. He had a weakness for wet men, and Draco Malfoy wore wet rather nicely.

He wondered why Malfoy trounced around naked all the time – first sleeping nude in bed, and now this, which was almost worse for the sheer fact that Malfoy was wet and half-aroused. Harry wondered if Malfoy was trying to show off, using one of his few good attributes to get attention. Or maybe it was his way of celebrating his newfound independence… Harry supposed Malfoy could not do as he pleased and walk around naked at home where it would have made his mother uncomfortable, so he took advantage of his time away,_Harry's_ comfort level be damned.

"Harry, who's that? Do you have a man in there?" Hermione's voice floated through the earpiece.

"Er… Just a second, Hermione." Harry covered the receiver with his palm and looked up at Malfoy. "Yes, it cleans the hair, and the other bottle you'll find there makes the hair softer. You're dripping all over the rug."

"You're such a Muggle, Potter." Malfoy sneered and returned to the bathroom.

Harry watched his retreating back and smiled. He noticed something he missed last night when it was darker and he was not wearing his glasses - Malfoy had freckles. Just a few, on his upper back, but freckles nonetheless. It was rather cute.

A muffled voice came from the area of Harry's groin. Looking down, he noticed he was pressing the phone against his growing erection. Oops.

"Er... Hermione? Still there?" He was glad she could not see him.

"Harry, who was that!?"

Harry cringed and held the phone farther from his ear. "It's... somebody you know, actually." There was no point in lying now. Keeping things from Hermione was impossible. He learned long ago – resistance was futile.

"Who? Is he from Hogwarts? Wait, I thought you wanted to experiment with Muggle men first."

"We're not experimenting anything! It's not what you think. He's just staying with me for a while because he's completely clueless about the Muggle world, and he needed my help. We ran into each other by coincidence."

"So you're helping him in exchange for sexual favours?"

"NO!" Harry cried. Then he paused to ponder the idea. He shook his head. "No," he repeated firmly. "He nearly got hit by a tram, and I saved him." He could have sworn he heard Hermione roll her eyes. "And he didn't make a room reservation and he didn't have anywhere else to stay, and – er - he kind of followed me. And I let him. Because... because it's not so bad having someone around."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. He hated that pitying voice. He did not mean to make her sound like that. "Well? Are you going to tell me who he is?"

"No. Trust me – you don't want to know." _I still can't believe it myself_.

"But I _do_ want to know. Tell me."

Harry bit his lip and braced himself. "It's Malfoy."

"MALFOY? _Draco_ Malfoy? Are you MAD?"

"Stop shouting! What was I supposed to do? Leave him to die?" There was silence on the line. "Hermione?"

"You could've saved him and then parted ways. I just can't fathom Malfoy spending time with you unless he was up to some nefarious scheme. He was a Death Eater, remember? He might be dangerous."

"He's a paranoid kid who still lives with his mother. He's about as dangerous as a Pygmy Puff."

Hermione sighed. "Well, if you insist. But be careful." A thoughtful pause. "Harry, does that mean Malfoy went to the gay club with you?"

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"I see. So he must know you're gay. Is he gay too, by chance?"

Harry did not want to answer. It was Malfoy's secret and he refused to out him. "He's engaged," he said instead.

"That doesn't mean anything."

Harry remained silent.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to spend time with Malfoy right now. You are vulnerable and you've been alone for too long. What if you develop... feelings for him?"

"It's _Malfoy_, Hermione. He might not be as horrible as I always thought, but I'm not going to develop_ feelings_ for him. Stop fretting." The water in the bathroom stopped running. "Look, I've got to go now."

"No, wait -"

"Don't tell Ron anything! Bye."

Malfoy came out of the bathroom, wearing one of his new pairs of jeans, filling the room with the sweet scent of peaches from Harry's shampoo. Harry never noticed the scent so strongly on his own hair. Water trickled down from Malfoy's wet hair to the smooth and flawless skin of his chest and shoulders. No freckles on the front. "I don't have a shirt," he said and stared expectantly at Harry.

"My clothes are in the cupboard," Harry offered automatically. "Why aren't you using a Drying Spell?" he asked. Wet Malfoy made him uncomfortable. Mostly, it made his pants more uncomfortable.

"My hair looks better when it dries naturally." Malfoy took out a blue jumper from the small cupboard. "Do you think it's going to rain? It looks nice out."

"It always looks nice, and then when you go out, it pours," Harry said. "Take your jacket anyway. Even if it doesn't rain, there's cold wind sometimes."

Malfoy pulled on the jumper, and when his head popped out of it again, he was grinning.

Harry frowned. "_What_?"

"You sound just like my mother."

At the hotel's dining room, Malfoy loaded copious amounts of chocolate on his toast, covering their table with empty tiny packages. His eyes gleamed in delight with each package he peeled open. By the end of the meal, he seemed to have grown a brown moustache.

Harry hid a grin in his teacup. He could tell Malfoy he had chocolate spread over his face, but then again… he never did pay Malfoy back for all the nasty tricks he played on Harry and his friends back at school.

After breakfast they went up to the room again, because Malfoy decided he wanted his jacket after all. An eagle owl with pointed ear tufts was waiting on the bed.

"Bubo!" called Malfoy and took the letter it offered. "It's from Mother."

"_Bubo_?" Harry sniggered. The owl glared at him with its big orange eyes.

"Shut up, I was two when I named her!" Malfoy broke the seal on the letter and it erupted, showering him with glitter and ribbons. A red, furry, heart-shaped creature with slim white arms materialised and began singing a birthday song in a loud, screechy voice. Harry had his wand out in an instant and cast a silencing spell. When it finished its mute song, the creature leapt on Malfoy and gave him a tight hug. It disappeared as it came, leaving Malfoy gaping, his hair sparkling with tinsel.

Harry nearly choked on his laughter when a disembodied female voice boomed through the small room. "Happy birthday, my precious! I can't believe my little baby is twenty one…" Narcissa's voice quivered. "I hope you are having fun on your holiday. I miss you. There is a mountain of presents waiting just for you, so hurry back. And please be careful, dear, and stay away from the Muggles - you know they're unpredictable and dangerous." She sniffed. "I love you."

Harry caught a glimpse of flushed cheeks just before Malfoy hid his face with his hands and groaned. "Sometimes I wish I was an orphan," he said grimly.

Harry smacked him on the back of his head.

**X X X**

This time they made it to the broomstick exhibition on time.

A rickety old boat was docking at the bank of the canal. The only sign that it was not just another ordinary boat, like so many others in Amsterdam, was the plain twig broomstick resting near the door of the tiny cabin.

They climbed aboard and gave their invitations from the Frequent Flyer Club to the Welcome Witch.

The boat was much bigger and fancier from the inside, more like a yacht. Wooden panelling covered the walls, and a big crystal chandelier hung over round tables where respectable-looking wizards sat to sign business deals. A spiral staircase led downstairs, and a heavy red curtain seemed to hide another room at the back.

A gasp brought Harry's attention back to the woman sitting in front of them. He saw her eyes lingering on his name, scrawled on the invitation. Her lips moved slowly, mouthing his name._ Ha-rry-Po-tter_. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the woman was gawking at his forehead. _What a surprise…_

"Oh my God, Harry Potter!" she squealed. "I – It – It's you, it's really you!"

"The one and only," Malfoy drawled from beside him, rolling his eyes.

The woman placed her hands over her mouth, over her heart, and finally held her hands up. "Wait here," she said and ran behind the curtain, leaving Harry and Malfoy at the entrance.

Harry braced himself; he knew what was coming next. As he had expected, she came back, followed by a tall, moustached man in blue tailored robes, undoubtedly the man in charge.

After a brief glance at Harry's scar, the man grasped Harry's hand between his own and shook it, nearly dislocating Harry's shoulder. "Such an honour! The great Harry Potter, unbelievable," he said, his bright blue eyes shining. "Delighted, _delighted_ to meet you!"

"Nice meeting you too, sir," Harry answered politely. He detested those moments.

"I am Bastyaen Van Dijk, from the Dutch Department of Magical Games and Sports. Unfortunately, I was not informed of your arrival. I am sorry to say I haven't made any special arrangements or prepared festivities." The man held his breath, as if expecting Harry to have a tantrum.

"It's okay," Harry said hurriedly. "I only came to see the new broom. That's all."

Van Dijk beamed. "Well then, don't stand here at the door, come on in!"

"We haven't paid yet," Harry said.

"Nonsense! You are my special guest. You and your friend." Van Dijk turned to shake Malfoy's hand and introduced himself again.

Malfoy hesitated before he said his own name. The Malfoy family's reputation was well known - and not for the best. "Draco… Draco Malfoy," he said eventually, nervously checking Van Dijk's face for a sign of recognition.

But Van Dijk only smiled brightly. Apparently the infamous Malfoy name had not reached this far. "Welcome to theBroomstick of the New Millennium Exhibition," he said and ushered them in. Harry heard Malfoy sigh in relief.

"Do you play Quidditch?" Van Dijk asked and Harry and Malfoy nodded. "May I ask which position?"

"Seeker," they answered in unison.

"Excellent, than you will find this even more exciting," Van Dijk said and clapped his hands together. "I have a wonderful idea. How would you like to watch a demonstration game? The official game was yesterday at the opening, but the team is here now anyway, and with such special guests…" He trailed off.

"It's alright, there's no need to bothe-" Harry started to say.

Malfoy stepped on his foot. "That would be wonderful, thank you," he interjected.

Van Dijk ordered the captain to sail to the Wizarding District.

The new broom was downstairs at the bottom of the boat, which was made of glass. Light from two hovering globes reflected on the walls of green water, filling the small room with eerie, flitting shadows. A chill glided down Harry's spine and he shivered – the place was making him claustrophobic. He focused his attention on the big water tank and on the high table at the edge of the room. Harry and Malfoy came to a halt in front of the table and stared at the broomstick laid on top. Silver letters were carved on its handle, spelling the name 'Tidalwave'.

"How fast is it?" Malfoy asked before Harry had the chance to.

"It is as fast as the latest Firebolt. But speed is not the important thing about it. What this broom can do that previous brooms could not, is _dive underwater_." Van Dijk grinned at Harry and Malfoy's gasps. "Yes, gentlemen, what we invented here is not only a new broom – it is a new way of playing Quidditch." He went behind the table and picked up a wooden chest. "And in here we have," he took out something that looked like a shrunken golden squid with eight silver tentacles, "the Squitch! Just like the good old Snitch, only," he plopped the Squitch into the water tank, "it swims." They watched as it spread its tentacles and cut through the water like a Snitch through air.

"What about the other balls?" Harry asked, his eyes following the Squitch, his hand itching to catch it.

"There aren't any, this is a Seekers-only game," said Van Dijk. "After all, we all know Seekers are the star players of Quidditch," he added with a wink.

They went back upstairs and through the curtain at the back to meet the Dutch National Team players.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was finally able to put down the quill and rub his aching wrist. Signing autographs was a bitch. Especially when he did it not only for the people he met, but for all their family members, neighbours, and friends.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was drinking wine and chatting with the players. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Harry noticed a distinct difference in his behaviour; he held himself higher, and seemed more poised and confident now they were out of Muggle territory, reminding Harry of the Slytherin boy he knew from Hogwarts who walked the corridors as if he owned the place.

They all talked about the new underwater Quidditch and its rules, which were quite simple. Rule number one - catch the Squitch. Rule number two – do not drown.

"Are you going to play in the canal? Is it safe to go in the water?" Harry asked. The canals never seemed very sanitary.

"There are Filtering Charms on all entrances to the Wizarding District, so the water there is clean," explained Van Dijk.

"You won't believe how filthy the Muggle canals are," said Siegfried, the team's Seeker. "The stuff the Muggles throw in there… it's ghastly." Harry instantly knew the man was a pure-blood. A glance at Malfoy's approving nod and smirk showed him he was right.

"Well, Harry, how do you find Amsterdam? Been to all the famous sights already?" asked Gerda, one of the team's Chasers.

"I've been to some," Harry answered._ If you count Dam Square and the central station_. He was not there for the sights.

"You should go to the Van Gogh Museum," said Hilda, another Chaser. "It's lovely."

Gunter, one of the Beaters, snorted. "Don't be silly, Hilda. Why would Harry care about a museum?" He turned to Harry and wiggled his eyebrows. "So… been to the Red Light District?"

"Yeah," added the other Beater, Erwin. "Did you go check the_ merchandise_?"

"Er. No, I haven't been there yet," Harry said. He was planning to go there, just to see what it was all about, but he most certainly had no desire to check out the prostitutes, which was what the Red Light District was famous for.

Hilda slapped Erwin's arm "Don't be gross. Not all men are pigs like you," she chided. "Maybe Harry is the romantic type, or maybe he has a girlfriend."

"Or a _boyfriend_," offered Siegfried.

Harry was temporarily stunned. They all turned to him expectantly. _Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush, don't blush_, he chanted in his mind. He could sense Malfoy's gaze burning the side of his head, but did not dare look his way. He had to think fast, he could not let them find out; he was not ready to come out just yet. "I-I'm recently divorced," he blurted out.

It seemed to work. Everyone gave him the customary 'I'm-so-sorry' face. He was saved. Harry inhaled deeply, trying to calm his speeding heartbeat. From the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy smirking.

"Not a pure-blood then," said Siegfried. He was one of those people who tilted their head back and looked down their nose when they spoke, their eyes half shut as if the sight of the person before them was offending. Harry did not like him. He reminded him of Snape.

"Oh, don't you start with that blood nonsense again, Siegfried!" Garda warned.

"You're only calling it nonsense because you're Muggle-born," said Siegfried dismissively, still looking at Harry. "Pure-bloods don't divorce. We find it too… _Muggle_." He sneered.

"Exactly," agreed Malfoy. "It's disgraceful." He and Siegfried shared a haughty smile.

_Oh no, they multiply_, thought Harry. "It's not disgraceful, it's the most logical thing to do," he said. "The only reason pure-bloods are against it is because they're stuck too deep in their old ways and their minds can't cope with change." It was a sore spot for him. Mr and Mrs Weasley still refused to speak to him because he divorced their daughter, claiming he dishonoured their family. It was lucky for him that Ginny's brothers were more open-minded.

"Don't mind him, Harry," said Hilda. "You know why some of those pure-bloods are like that." She cupped her hands around her mouth and stage-whispered, "Too much inbreeding."

Harry laughed and glanced at Malfoy. "Yes, I know the type."

The boat shuddered and a man wearing an eye patch and a captain's hat peeked through the curtain. "We've entered the Wizarding District. You can go out to the deck now," he said.

Outside, the sun was shining warmly and the sky was clear and blue. Harry closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh, salty air as the light sea breeze caressed his face. He missed flying; he hardly had time for it any more.

The players removed their robes, revealing their red and blue swimming costumes. Each grabbed a broom and prepared to jump into the canal. "You two should come with me, we can watch the game from downstairs," said Van Dijk and turned back inside, signalling for Harry and Malfoy to follow.

Gunther, one of the Beaters, crossed their path on his way to the jumping board at the edge of the deck. He was a tall bloke with black tribal tattoos decorating his defined biceps. Harry and Malfoy paused and watched as he stretched, his back muscles flexing and rippling under his tanned skin. Harry's hungry gaze slid to Gunther's firm, curved buttocks as he bent over and jumped into the water after his teammates.

"_Fuck_," said Malfoy hoarsely from beside him.

"Yeah… That's exactly what _I_ was thinking," Harry agreed.

They met each other's eyes and grinned mischievously.

The light globes in the bottom of the ship were off, but daylight seemed to penetrate more freely through the clean water in the Wizarding District. Erwin was the first to dive to greet them from the other side of the glass, waving and smiling, his broom moving through water as smoothly as a hot knife through butter. Then the rest of the team arrived, propelling their brooms faster, leaving a trail of rippling water in their wake. Harry's nose nearly touched the glass, his jaw hanging open as he followed their fluid movements.

"Wow," said Malfoy as Siegfried dived past, circling fast and creating a whirlpool. Annoying as Siegfried was, Harry had to admit he could handle a broomstick.

The event took on a new level as a Squitch was released and the game begun. Soon all Harry could see was speeding shapes, white foam, and bobbles. The players engulfed the boat from beneath and all sides, plunging deeper in chase of the Squitch and shooting up again for air. It was a lot more competitive and chaotic with seven players all chasing the same ball. Harry longed to join in.

It was Siegfried who finally caught the Squitch. "He always wins," said Van Dijk. "He is a superb Seeker."

They went upstairs to greet the team as they flew back into the boat, and this time Harry and Malfoy's attention was not on any of the wet, half-naked men. It was on the brooms. Van Dijk must have noticed, because he asked, "Would you like to try them?"

Hilda and the Keeper, Willemina, gave Harry and Malfoy their brooms, saying they were tired of losing to Siegfried and did not want to play anymore. The broom's twigs curved in two directions like the shape of a shark's tail fin, and the front wooden tip was carved like a shark's head. Harry held it and stroked the slick handle, watching the silver logo glinting in the sunlight. He looked at Malfoy and saw he too was regarding the broom with shining eyes.

Harry removed his clothes, and let Gerda Transfigure his boxers into swimming trunks and his glasses into goggles.

"What are you waiting for, Draco? Get your clothes off and jump in," Erwin rushed.

Malfoy removed only his boots and socks. "I'll stay with my clothes on. I don't have a bathing suit," he said.

"See, Malfoy?" Harry said and smirked. "That's why you should always wear underwear."

Erwin laughed and shoved his hands under his robes to peel off his own swimming trunks. "You can have mine," he said and threw it to Malfoy. Malfoy's hand flew up to catch it and then he froze, staring at it as if it was a grenade without its safety catch. "Oh, come on," said Erwin, "it's clean! It's been in the water with me, hasn't it?"

Malfoy's eyes flicked between his hands, from the red and blue soggy garment to the tempting broomstick. The broom won. He went away to change, and when he returned he was wearing the swimming trunks and his jumper.

Everyone stared at him questioningly. "If you're waiting for my bikini top, you can forget it," laughed Hilda.

"It's cold, I'll stay with the jumper," Malfoy said.

"Maybe he's embarrassed about something," said Siegfried. "A third nipple, perhaps?" he suggested and everyone sniggered.

Malfoy bowed his head, avoiding everyone's eyes. He placed down the broom, muttered, "Never mind," and turned to leave.

Harry suddenly realised what was wrong and he grabbed Malfoy's wrist. "It's OK," he whispered in Malfoy's ear. "They won't notice - it's nearly invisible." He rubbed his thumb over the sleeve covering the remains of the Dark Mark to show he understood the problem.

"But what if -" began Malfoy.

"Don't worry. You're with Harry Potter, remember?" Harry said. "Who would suspect you?"

Slowly Malfoy's mouth tugged up into a smile. He nodded and stripped off his jumper.

It seemed that every eye was pinned to Malfoy's torso, searching for anything unusual. Malfoy squirmed under the scrutiny and clasped his hands behind his back, hiding his arms.

Harry took a step forward, half hiding Malfoy. "He's a bit shy about the freckles on his back, that's all," he lied. Everyone harrumphed in disinterest and moved their attention back to what they were doing before.

"That was very chivalrous of you and all," Malfoy drawled, leaning towards Harry, "but what would happen once they see I don't _have_ any freckles?"

"You do have freckles, Malfoy."

"No, I don't. Are you blind? Oh right – you are."

Harry snorted. "Fine. You keep believing that."

Harry straddled his broom and kicked off from the ground. The broom was powerful and fast, faster than his old Firebolt that he refused to replace with an updated model. The boat anchored at the edge of the canal where it met with the open sea, and all Harry was aware of, with the wind roaring in his ears, was the sparkling water below and the endless sky above. The wind patted his skin, reaching places it never had before when he was wearing robes. It was strange yet exhilarating, feeling it blowing down his spine and the outside of his thighs. He had goosebumps. It has been ten years since the first time he flew and it still managed to bring him joy as nothing else could.

He slowed down and turned to watch the others. Everyone except Malfoy was riding their brooms underwater, heads peeking out occasionally as they came up for air. From above, they looked like a school of tiny whales.

Malfoy was flying low. He touched the water tentatively with his toe and immediately withdrew it. Harry rolled his eyes at him. Malfoy was such a ponce sometimes.

It was time to try out the broom's new feature. Harry angled it straight down, holding to it firmly with his hands and thighs as his body slumped forward, took a gulp of air, and dove. He made sure to hit the surface right next to Malfoy, and showered him with a splash of cold water.

The shift from warm sun to freezing water, and the gust of wind to the swallowing silence of the deep was shocking. Harry's breath escaped in a flow of bubbles and he had to cover his mouth and nose with his hand to keep himself from gasping for air. He hasted to tilt the broom up again and shot out of the water, coughing and splattering.

The next time Harry dove, gradually, with more sense and less swank, it went a lot smoother. A few minutes later Malfoy cut across his path, looking grey and ghostly under the water. He paused to glare at Harry and give him the fingers. _Competitive git_. Harry returned the gesture.

When the Squitch was released, Malfoy did not matter any more. Nothing did. Harry's focus was on catching the elusive ball. The game was frantic: players diving in and out of each other's course, the distorted vision made spotting the ball nearly impossible, and the need for fresh air burned in Harry's lungs.

He loved it.

Something small and silvery ascended from the darker depths. Harry could not tell if it was merely a fish, the Squitch, or just a trick of the light until he saw Siegfried plummeting towards it with Malfoy right behind him. Harry raised his head above the water, drew in a gulp of air, and thrust down and forward in pursuit of the ball. In seconds, the rest of the team was there, leaping in and out of his way. Malfoy tore up for air and Harry flattened himself against the broom handle, urging it faster until he was neck to neck with Siegfried, in the lead. The Squitch kept changing directions, slipping away. Harry's lungs felt as if they were about to burst, but he refused to give up; he knew that if he rose for air he would lose.

When Siegfried turned to look over his shoulder Harry saw he was covering his face with his hand. It heartened Harry to know that Siegfried was out of breath, but when Siegfried's grip faltered and his broom wiggled dangerously, Harry did not think twice before reaching out to help stabilise him.

Siegfried twisted his broom out of Harry's reach, and as he passed by Harry on his way up, the tail of his broom hit the back of Harry's head. The sharp blow made Harry cough all the air he was holding, sending it out in a torrent of bubbles that obscured his vision. It was nearly impossible to fight the instinct to gasp in attempt to refill his lungs with much-needed oxygen, and suddenly the second law of the game – do not drown – seemed much harder to follow.

Harry wanted nothing more than to fly out of the suffocating water and into the wonderful air waiting for him above, but then the water cleared of bubbles and there it was again – the Squitch. His eyes were stinging, his brain was thudding against his skull, and his chest felt constricted as if it was stuck in the middle of apparating, but the Squitch was right there, and he would be damned if he let something like the need for air stop him from catching it.

_**To Be Continued…**_

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Author's note: Reviews are most appreciated. Please feel free to be as brutally honest as you like. Concrit is love. Thanks for reading! 

Links to pictures of some of the places Harry and Draco visit can be found on my profile page.


	4. Expectations and Compromises

Summary: Harry is trying to find himself, and Draco is trying to hide away. An unexpected meeting in Amsterdam teaches them that the past is nothing but water under the bridge, and that sometimes, what you need most is just a bit of bad luck.

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and the people who bought it. Unfortunately, I'm not one of them.

Betas: anthimaeria, bewarethesmirk, and lilyfirebolt - the most wonderful betas anyone can ever ask for. Thank you, ladies! ♥

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**Expectations and Compromises**

Harry broke the water surface, gasping for oxygen and spitting salty seawater. With the Squitch secure in his hand, he brushed away the hair plastering his face and grinned widely, ready to be greeted by cheers and applause. 

They never came. Instead, all he heard was shouts.

"- like trolls!" barked Siegfried.

"Oh, _shut up_!" Gerda retorted. "You're just upset 'cause you lost."

"_You_," Siegfried snarled. "You shouldn't even be allowed near a broom!"

Malfoy swam over to Harry. "Did you catch it?" he asked.

"Yeah." Harry showed him his hand where the Squitch's cold, slimy tentacles glided and curled over the back of his fingers and his wrist.

"Hmm," was all Malfoy had to say.

It was not the victory Harry had been expecting. Nobody but Malfoy had even noticed he won. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to suppress his disappointment.

Malfoy shrugged. "Siegfried reckons the others sabotaged his game."

Six years of playing against the Slytherins taught Harry how to spot cheaters from miles away, and there were none in this game. Even _Malfoy_ had played fair. "But that's not true," he said.

Malfoy gave him a look as if he was missing something obvious. "Well, he's not used to losing, is he?"

"And that's reason enough to blame it on others?"

"It's a matter of _pride_. Didn't you notice he's speaking English so we can all understand him? It's all a show."

Harry looked at Siegfried, who was still yelling, his face red and distorted with rage. "But that's ridiculous," he told Malfoy. "It's just a game. Why make a scene?"

Malfoy stared at him curiously and then the frown between his eyebrows disappeared and his lips thinned, making his face appear to be made of stone. "Of course you wouldn't know anything about it. What have _you_ ever lost in your life?"

The comment reached under Harry's skin and twisted his insides. Images of the battles he had participated in flooded his mind – blood, scorched earth, and unblinking eyes. He gritted his teeth. "You mean besides parents and mentors and friends?" He squeezed the Squitch out of his hand as he tightened his fists, and it plopped back into the water.

Malfoy's eyes widened a fraction before he averted his gaze. "That's not what I meant," he said faintly. He did not continue the argument.

Siegfried was still growling. "You kicked me in the head, you filthy woman! It knocked all the air out of me; I had to come up because of you."

"Stop being a drama queen, Siegfried," said Erwin. "You were tied with Harry; nobody else was close enough to kick you."

Siegfried scowled and Erwin turned to Harry. "And speaking of whom," he said loudly. "Did you catch it, Harry?"

Harry raised his hand, but the Squitch was no longer there. "Er. Yes, but I released it." _Damn_.

Siegfried's eyes flashed. "He's lying!"

"No, he's not!" Malfoy shot back. "I saw him holding it. Potter won."

Harry gaped. Why was Malfoy defending him? He was expecting Malfoy to use the situation to mock him, to take Siegfried's side. He frowned at Malfoy, who looked at him evenly and seriously. Expectantly. Suddenly Harry understood – it was Malfoy's wacky way of apologising for his earlier comment. Harry looked away. He knew that Malfoy's comment had nothing to do with the war, and that he had overreacted and projected his own thoughts onto Malfoy. He wished he had kept his mouth shut.

"And now his friend is covering for him!" Siegfried accused, slapping his hand on the water as if banging on a table. "They're _both_ cheaters."

"Hey, that's Harry Potter you're talking to!" protested Willemina from the deck of the boat where she watched the quarrel with Hilda and Van Dijk. "Apologise to him at once!"

Van Dijk placed a hand on her arm. "I have an idea," he said to the group at large, and Accioed the Squitch back from the water. "Why don't you have a rematch? You will each have a chance to outshine the other."

"I'm not playing with those buffoons again," Siegfried said.

Hilda laughed. "It won't be all that challenging if you play by yourself."

Siegfried's lip curled and he glared at Harry. "Fine. I'll play one-on-one against Potter."

Harry's blood was boiling with the thirst to prove himself. He met Siegfried's eyes squarely. "Let's do it."

Everyone except for Harry, Malfoy, and Siegfried went to watch the game from the bottom of the boat. "Hey, Blondie," Siegfried called to Malfoy, "What are you still doing in the water?"

Malfoy raised his chin. "I want to play, too."

Siegfried snorted. "Then perhaps you should learn how to ride a broom first."

"I play better than you!"

"Oh, _please_. Who told you that lie? Your daddy?"

Malfoy's face blanched and his eyes flashed dangerously, and Harry knew that if Malfoy had his wand on him, Siegfried would have been a pile of floating goo. "Do not ever speak about my father!" Malfoy said through clenched teeth, voice shaking with held-back fury.

"Oww… Did I hit a nerve?"

Harry had had enough. "Shut up and let's play, Siegfried," he hissed.

Siegfried seemed to recoil. After all, Harry was renowned for being someone who should not be messed with.

Malfoy did not push the issue any further. Harry supposed it was because Malfoy was afraid to expose details about his family that might disclose the side they had taken in the war. He swam the small distance between them, eyes intent on Harry, and leaned forward. For a paralysing moment Harry thought Malfoy was about to kiss him, but then he felt Malfoy's warm breath on his ear. "Kick his arse for me, will you?" Malfoy whispered.

Harry nodded. The movement caused the cold tip of Malfoy's nose to scrape his cheek, sending a tingle down his spine. As Malfoy swam away, his fingers brushed against Harry's chest – whether accidentally or purposely Harry did not know. He could feel the imprint of those fingertips long after Malfoy had left for the boat.

Van Dijk released the Squitch and went to join the others in the glass room. Harry and Siegfried waited for the signal, the boat's horn, and dove into the canal.

It was not as frantic with only the two of them in the water, but the stakes were higher and the pressure heavier. Every time Harry dove next to the bottom of the boat, thinking he might have spotted something, he saw Malfoy's anxious face from the other side of the glass wall.

He had to win.

Harry swam in large circles, close to the water's surface so he could take a fresh gulp of air should he spot the Squitch. Siegfried kept cutting in front of him, moving in and out of the water, blocking Harry's field of vision with froth and bubbles – on purpose. The git played like a Slytherin.

It was lucky Harry had experience playing against Slytherins, then.

Harry pretended to try to avoid Siegfried, shifting directions and feigning an annoyed expression, keeping Siegfried's attention on Harry while Harry kept an eye out for the Squitch. When he finally spotted it, it was deep and ahead of them, closer to Siegfried who was too occupied with pestering Harry to notice it. Harry knew he would not be able to reach it first in their current position. His pulse was beating in his ears. He had to think fast. Praying that Siegfried would keep following him and would not see the Squitch, he turned his back on the precious ball, thrusting his broom fast in the other direction.

It worked. Siegfried zoomed out of the water and back in again like a dolphin, and positioned himself in front of Harry, wagging the end of his broom in Harry's face. Harry did not waste time. He shot straight out of the water, somersaulting in the air before he took a deep breath and dove back in right above the Squitch. By the time Siegfried realised what was going on behind him, Harry was already in hot pursuit. The Squitch was close to the boat, right next to the glass wall, when Harry stretched his hand and closed his fingers around it. The last thing he saw before coming up for air was Malfoy, throwing up his fist and whooping.

Harry flew straight to the deck of the boat where everyone came up to congratulate him. He was kissed and hugged and slapped on the back, his ears ringing from the rush of excitement and from the cheering and clapping of the people around him. _That_ was how victory was supposed to feel – leaving him giddy and so light-headed he imagined he could float. It was like being back at Hogwarts after winning a game, this engulfment of admiration. He missed it, being appreciated for his talent, for doing something normal for a change, and not for killing someone.

Van Dijk shook his hand eagerly. "I can't believe it, it's amazing! Siegfried never loses," he said, eyes wide in awe. "He's _never_ lost before."

"Doesn't matter," said Malfoy who had just arrived, dry and wearing a blue dressing gown. "Because Potter _always_ wins."

Harry turned to him, aware of the goofy smile on his face, but not caring. "I caught it," he said and held up the hand with the Squitch.

"Of course you did," Malfoy said dryly, but with a smile quirking his lips.

The Squitch was wet and gooey in Harry's hand, but all he was aware of was Malfoy's intent expression. He realised he was holding his breath, and released it shakily.

"You know," Malfoy said, "for a moment there everyone thought you missed the Squitch. I knew you didn't miss it, but I never expected you to pull such a stunt. God,Potter, it takes guts to see the ball and fly in the other direction."

Harry laughed. "You know me, always the brave Gryffindor."

"No, no, that was a very cunning move you came up with. Very… _Slytherin_," Malfoy said, and during the pause that followed, Harry realised Malfoy meant it as a compliment.

Van Dijk joined them again. "Tell me, Harry, did you ever consider playing professionally? A talent like yours would be a shame to waste."

As flattered as he was, Harry's smile faltered. "Thank you, but… well, I'm training to be an Auror now, so…" he trailed off.

"Oh yes, of course, being an Auror is much more important!" Van Dijk said. "And we already know you are just as talented at fighting evil."

Harry wished Van Dijk had not agreed with him so willingly. He tried to smile politely. "Pardon me," he said and went to join Malfoy, suddenly in no mood for celebrations.

They walked silently along the narrow deck at the side of the boat. Lost in thought, Harry trailed his hand over the damp railing as he walked, nearly tripping over Siegfried who was sitting on the floor, solemn and sopping wet. Harry could not help feeling sorry for him, even if Siegfried _was_ an insufferable arsehole.

A vindictive glint sparkled in Malfoy's eyes as he squeezed next to Harry and loomed over Siegfried. "Tut, tut," he said, shaking his head and pouting in mock sympathy. "A professional Quidditch player losing to an amateur… The mortification must be _torturous_." His face broke in a feral grin. "Now who's the one that needs to learn how to ride a broom?"

Siegfried jumped to his feet and disappeared through a door into the cabin without a word.

Harry caught a glimpse of the wand tip disappearing up the sleeve of Malfoy's dressing gown. "What did you cast on him?" he asked, feeling oddly proud of Malfoy, even though he felt guilty as a result.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy answered, eyes wide with false innocence.

"Don't lie, I saw you. What did you do?"

Malfoy scowled. "Are you going to run in there and save him now?"

"No. What do you take me for? I'm just curious." Then he reconsidered, suddenly worried. "Why? Is it dangerous?"

Malfoy stuck out his chin. "Well, you always try to save everybody, don't you? And _no_, it's not dangerous." Then he shrugged and smiled slyly. "Well, maybe a bit dangerous to his sex life," he added, and turned to look down the railing at the Dutch team players who had decided to jump back into the canal.

Harry laughed. Maybe it was better not to know what the curse was.

After a long silence, Malfoy turned to face Harry. "Why do you want to be an Aur-"

"Let's go join them," Harry interrupted quickly. He climbed over the railing and jumped into the water without waiting for a reply. He did not feel like talking.

Malfoy followed with a splash.

Harry turned and smiled at him in apology. He did not want to ruin this glorious day by talking about his career choices – a topic that he mulled about often, and that always left him miserable.

Willemina brought a broom and took off flying. Harry looked up and watched as she circled in the air, smiling at him oddly, her two long, blonde braids flailing in the wind. Her broom was magnificent – fast, steady and powerful – never breaking momentum even when hitting the water. He wanted it. He wanted a Tidalwave.

Raucous laughter brought his attention back down. Malfoy was swimming towards him, Gerda chasing right behind. "Save me, Potter!" Malfoy called and hid behind Harry just as a jet of water hit Harry straight in the face.

"Oops!" said Gerda, hooting with laugher as Harry spewed seawater. Malfoy dived to come up behind her, and jumped on her back, trying in vain to dunk her head, but she was much bigger than he was.

Harry joined their game and they played like children, splashing, chasing one another, and fooling around. He was weightless in the water, allowing himself to forget who he was, what he was, what he wanted to be. For now, he was at peace with the world, if only for a little while. He could not remember the last time he did something just for fun. When did he grow so old?

Even though almost everyone joined them in the canal or above on brooms, Harry found his eyes drawn to one particular figure. Malfoy was incredibly difficult to ignore. His boyish laughter, in all its contagious spirit, drifted through the air. Harry watched as Malfoy's eyes creased like crescent moons, his nose and cheeks pink from the sun.

Harry shook his head and raised his face to watch Willemina and Henk racing through the air, squinting at the sky and trying to suppress the sounds of Malfoy's laughter. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Malfoy sprang up in front of him and lunged on his shoulders, plunging him into the water. Harry's warrior instincts kicked in and he grabbed blindly at his attacker, seizing Malfoy's waist and pulling him down with him. Malfoy's skin was slippery under Harry's palms, his silvery hair gliding and flowing around his face, ethereal and surreal in the underwater stillness. Their eyes met for a brief moment before they kicked their legs in the water and rose above the surface once more, panting, and still holding onto each other tightly.

Harry gasped for breath and his heart thundered in his chest as he stared at Malfoy. Wet hair was covering Malfoy's cheek and forehead, hiding half of his face, and Harry reached up with one hand – the other still on Malfoy's waist – to push the hair away.

Malfoy's eyelids drifted closed as Harry's fingers lightly touched his cheek.

A shadow blocked the sunlight. "Do you want to fly for a bit, Harry?" asked Willemina, appearing suddenly, hovering on the broom above them. They quickly broke apart. "It's almost time for lunch, it's your last chance," she said.

"Er. What? No. Thanks," Harry stuttered. He was a bit shaky, unsure of what – if anything – was happening between him and Malfoy.

"Then you should probably return to the boat," she said. "Want a ride there?"

Harry looked at Malfoy who was facing away. He seemed to have developed a special interest in a rope that was tied to the bank of the canal. Harry stared at the back of his head where the water turned his hair a shade darker, silently willing for him to turn around, needing to see his expression, hoping it would help him sort his own confusion.

Willemina touched Harry's arm and he jumped. "Well? Do you want a ride?" she asked again and winked, patting the broom handle behind her.

"No, it's OK, I'm fine," Harry said distractedly. But he was not fine. Something was lurching in his stomach and scratching at his mind. _Maybe it's a heat stroke_, he reassured himself.

Everyone returned to the boat, dried themselves, changed back into their clothes, and went to eat lunch in the big room behind the curtain. Harry suddenly remembered something, which gave him an idea. He went to the kitchen to speak with the house-elves. When he arrived at the table, everyone except Siegfried was already there, and the only empty seat was between Willemina and Malfoy.

They ate, talked about the game, and gossiped about Siegfried. Nobody seemed to like him. "He allows himself to act like a jerk because he knows he's the best Seeker around," said Gerda.

"You should replace him, Harry," suggested Henk. "What do you say?"

"Er." Harry did not like where this conversation was heading. "I think I might be too British for the Dutch National Team," he joked.

"You can always move to -" Henk started saying, but Malfoy interrupted.

"The food is delicious," he said loudly. "Best meal I've had since I got here. Is it from a restaurant?"

"No, the Ministry's house-elves cooked it," Hilda answered.

"Oh, of course, I should've guessed," Malfoy said. "No human can cook like a house-elf."

They continued to discuss food and restaurants. The topic of Harry playing Quidditch did not come up again. He leaned closer to Malfoy and whispered, "Thanks."

When Malfoy finished the main course, he slumped back in his chair and turned to Harry. "I can't breathe," he said and lolled back with his tongue hanging out, pretending to die. "These Muggle clothes are like a prison."

Harry knew what he meant – he felt the same way. "Try opening the button," he said and discreetly opened the button of his own jeans, sighing in relief as the pressure subsided. Buttoned trousers were one of the main differences between Muggle and wizard attire. He believed that was the reason wizards ate much bigger meals.

Malfoy did as Harry demonstrated and then rubbed his belly. "Now I have room for dessert." He inclined his head and cupped his hands around his mouth conspiratorially, "Is the button thing a classified Muggle secret?"

Harry frowned. "Er. Sure…?"

"_Cool_," Malfoy said and rubbed his palms together as if he won a prize.

Harry grinned into his Butterbeer.

The torches on the wall suddenly extinguished and darkness fell. Even though Harry had expected this to happen, he drew his wand reflexively, ready and alert. There were startled exclamations from the others in the room and Malfoy tensed beside him, grabbing Harry's arm. Willemina seized his thigh, and Harry nearly dropped his wand. A few confused seconds later, the curtain opened and flickering candlelight bathed the room as an enormous cake hovered in. At least Harry thought it was hovering until he noticed the three house-elves underneath the tray. The two hands swiftly vanished off him.

The house-elves started singing a birthday song – the squeakiest song Harry had ever heard – and soon everyone joined in.

_Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday dear sir, Draco Malfoy_

_Happy birthday to you_

The house-elves laid the cake on the table in front of Malfoy, the candles illuminating his face. His jaw was hanging down. "Wait!" Malfoy called after them before they disappeared through the curtain again. "How did you know it's my birthday?"

"Harry Potter, he is telling us, sir," one of the house-elves answered in a shrill voice.

"Anything for Harry Potter," another house-elf added and Harry cringed. Even the Dutch house-elves knew who he was.

If it was possible, Malfoy gaped even wider. He turned to Harry. "_You?_"

Harry shrugged one shoulder and smiled.

Malfoy shook his head in disbelief and slowly his mouth broadened into a grin.

"Happy birthday, Malfoy," Harry said. And meant it.

Malfoy held his gaze. "It is," he said. The warm light of the candles created dancing shadows on Malfoy's face that made his sharp features look softer; accessible, even. Harry wondered if he would be accessible to -

"Hey, are you going to cut the cake already?" Erwin called from across the table. "If you keep us drooling any longer, we'll drown the boat!"

Harry and Malfoy swiftly looked away from each other.

Malfoy rose to his feet, closed his eyes for a long moment, and blew out the candles. The torches sprang back to life and everyone clapped as Malfoy cut and divided the cake.

He served himself and Harry last, and sat back down. "Mmm…" he moaned as he took a bite and examined the cake. "Chocolate cake with chocolate filling and chocolate icing – my favourite! How did you know?" he asked Harry.

"Seeing you eat breakfast was a big clue."

Malfoy took another bite from the cake and glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye. "My, Potter, I didn't know you were paying me such rapt attention."

"Well, you _are_ hard to overloo-" Harry started to say, and then abruptly stopped when he realized what he had said.

Malfoy only raised an eyebrow and flashed Harry a smug smirk, before taking another helping of cake.

After lunch, Malfoy bought a Tidalwave. He did not even ask for the price, just gave his vault details and asked for it to be delivered to his manor. Van Dijk was beside himself, obviously not expecting to close a deal so easily. Harry wanted to buy one too, but was uncomfortable doing so. One problem was spending so much money, even if he _could_ easily afford it. Van Dijk wanted to give him the broom as a gift, saying it would be great for publicity if Harry Potter had that broom, but Harry vehemently refused. Malfoy also offered to buy him the broom as a payback for all the Muggle money Harry had spent on him, but Harry refused that too. After all, the Tidalwave cost a fortune, much more than Malfoy owed him. Another, and probably his biggest problem, was his conscience – he still rode his Firebolt, the same broom Sirius bought him all those years ago, and buying a new one felt like betrayal. He shared his doubts with Malfoy.

"You see, Potter, it's not really a problem, because it's not the same kind of broom," Malfoy explained. "You can't dive underwater with a Firebolt. You _need_ a Tidalwave. It's not betrayal if you _need_ it."

Harry shifted his weight from leg to leg. "I dunno…"

"Fine," Malfoy said, nose up in the air. "Then I'll have the best broom on the market, and you won't. Ha!"

Harry laughed. "I know what you're doing."

"Is it working?"

Harry looked at the ceiling and frowned. "Yes... Yes, it is." As childish as it was, the thought of Malfoy having the superior broom was unbearable.

"Good. Now give the nice man your vault details and let's go back to the table. I want more cake."

Harry did as he was told. It felt good to be spontaneous and do something solely for himself for a change. It made him giddy. It was the first broom he had ever bought.

The boat shuddered, meaning it was sailing again and had just left the Wizarding District. Harry's spirit came crashing down in an instant. He was surprised at how much it upset him that the broomstick exhibition was going to be over soon. Yesterday, he had decided to leave Amsterdam, but he was not sure that was what he wanted anymore. He was having so much fun now that he was not ready for it to end. But what excuse did he have to stay? And what about Malfoy? There was no reason for him to keep hanging around with Harry anymore. He would probably leave and Harry would be alone again.

He looked around at the cheerful, animated faces and felt isolated and detached from them. He sought out Malfoy, but Malfoy had his back to him, speaking with Gunter, which only added to his forlorn mood. The room seemed to be shrinking around him. He needed to get out of there, to breathe. "Can I go out to the deck?" he asked Van Dijk.

"You can, but it's back to the way Muggles see it, I'm afraid - small and dirty."

"I don't mind, I just…" The truth was Harry wanted to be alone, but he could not say that. "I never saw the city from inside the canals before."

"Oh, then you should," said Van Dijk. "It's lovely."

Van Dijk was right about the deck. It was small and deserted save for one wilting plant near the door. The white-painted wooden floor seemed to be trying to revert to its original brown colour. It was covered in a thick layer of grime that made Harry's shoes stick, making each step sound like he was walking on chewing gum.

Harry placed his hands on the sun-warmed metal railing and watched the water, trying to ignore the rumbling of the motor that was vibrating under his feet. He felt a little better being out on the open, breathing the fresh air.

The boat turned, passed under bridge, entered another canal, and soon Harry found himself within a picturesque scene. Tall trees flanked the canal on both sides, enshrouding it in a canopy of green leaves and rays of golden flickering sunlight that managed to filter through. Amsterdam was as beautiful as it was in postcards. It was different to watch the multi-coloured narrow buildings from inside the canal. He never looked up when he walked, and so he had missed the decorated gabled roofs with their gargoyles and crests and carved sculptures. He never paid much attention before to how the buildings were crammed together, each adjoining the next to create a colourful block with large windows. It reminded him of number twelve Grimmauld Place and how it squeezed between its neighbours until it disappeared.

Each time he noticed something particularly notable or exciting, he turned his head to his side in enthusiasm, only to find there was no one there. What was the point of all this beauty if there was nobody to share it with? He resolved to watch the green water instead.

The cabin door opened with a creak and Harry turned to see Malfoy walking towards him, nose scrunching as he looked around the deck.

"What are you doing outside?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged. "I like it here better," he said, though he kept looking around in disapproval. "Why? You want to be alone?"

"No." Harry thought he wanted to be alone until he actually _was_ alone and decided he wanted company again. "But… I thought you prefer the company of witches and wizards." He was sure Malfoy only wanted to hang around with him in the Muggle world, where the only options were him or the Muggles.

"You're a wizard too, Potter. Remember?" Malfoy pointed out, making Harry feel like an idiot. "Besides, Siegfried's back and they're arguing in Dutch, and it's irritating. They all sound like they have broken teeth, or are_ going_ to have broken teeth if they keep on like that. I hate foreign languages."

"I didn't think Siegfried would be back so soon."

"He probably felt braver now that you aren't there," Malfoy said. "What an imbecile."

Harry studied Malfoy. "Doesn't he… remind you of somebody?" he asked tentatively.

"He _does_! Did you notice his resemblance to Zabini, too?"

Harry chuckled. "Er. No. Siegfried reminds me of you."

Malfoy flinched as if Harry had slapped him. "Why? Because we're both pure-bloods?"

"No. Because you're both pompous, condescending pure-bloods."

"There's nothing wrong in being proud of your heritage." Malfoy flicked back his hair, his pointy chin sticking out. "And I'm _nothing_ like him!"

Harry raised his hands in surrender. It was not worth the argument, and if he was completely honest with himself, he knew Siegfried and Malfoy were not really all that similar. He certainly only enjoyed the company of one of them. "If you say so," he said.

"I _do_ say so." Malfoy huffed. "The only thing Siegfried and I have in common is a nice arse."

Harry laughed and stepped back from the railing they were both leaning on to take a closer look at Malfoy's back. Not that he truly needed it, he had Malfoy's arse memorised by now. "Nah," he said. "Your arse is much nicer."

Malfoy gasped and stared at him, but Harry quickly turned to gaze pointedly ahead at the waves the boat was making as it parted through the water. He wondered if he was finally becoming as insane as people always said he was.

"Well. I suppose you're not as blind as I thought you were," Malfoy drawled.

They stood side by side, elbows touching casually each time the boat turned and swayed, pointing out to each other all the interesting things they encountered. There were bell towers, fancy houseboats, a huge ancient windmill, a floating washing machine… The monotonous noise of the motor blended into the background and Harry focused on the peaceful sound of water beating against the sides of the boat. He did not feel lonely anymore with Malfoy at his side. He suspected Van Dijk told the captain to take the long way around, because it looked as though they were going in circles.

Sunlight ricocheted over the water surface and over Malfoy's pale hair, embroidering it with gold, and once again Harry found himself thinking of him as beautiful. It was not the typical kind of beauty – he was not breathtaking like the bloke from the bookshop. He was far from perfect with his pointed ears and upturned nose and narrow chin, but he had expressive eyes, cute freckles on his back, and a radiant smile. Of course, the fact that he was tall and blond with gorgeous buttocks did not hurt either.

"What?" Malfoy asked.

"What?" Harry asked back.

"You've been staring at me, Potter."

"Oh. Sorry." Harry rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, embarrassed of being caught. "I was just… er…" He tried to find an excuse, peeking at Malfoy again from under his fringe. "You're sunburned," he finally said. It was true - Malfoy's cheeks and nose were bright red.

Malfoy brought his fingers to his face. "Stupid sun. I don't want to get wrinkles."

Harry snorted. "You're such a ponce," he said, and earned a glare from Malfoy. "Here, let me heal it." He was good at Healing, which he had learnt during the war and in his Auror training. After discreetly hiding his wand in his sleeve, he took Malfoy's chin in his hand and tipped his head so they were face to face. Malfoy did not move or argue, so Harry gently touched the tip of his wand to Malfoy's inflamed skin and wordlessly cast a Healing spell. To any Muggles, it would look as if he was caressing Malfoy's face, so he knew he was not breaching any wizarding laws. He slowly rubbed his thumb over Malfoy's cheek, just to make it more believable, then rubbed it again, just in case. "Hey, it didn't work," he said. "I don't understand. I've never had problems with Healing spells… but your cheeks are still red."

Malfoy drew away from him. "It's nothing," he said sharply and wiped at his cheeks as if they were smeared in paint he could scrub off.

Harry's hands dropped to his sides. Was Malfoy angry? Harry bit his lip. He should not have touched him. He never touched people offhandedly; it was always something he did with careful consideration. But he felt so different today, letting himself relax and act on impulse with no concern for the consequences. _I should have known better_. Just as he opened his mouth to apologise, Malfoy turned to face him.

Malfoy's cheeks were back to their usual pallor. "Thank for the Healing spell," he said. "I never quite managed to master those. Mother always heals me if I need it."

Maybe Malfoy was not so angry after all. Harry let out a breath and smiled. "That's the second time today you've compared me to your mother, you know," Harry said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, you _are_ a bit feminine," Malfoy said, and smirked.

Harry kicked him playfully.

They returned to watch the view and Harry tried to impress Malfoy by reciting everything he had learned from his tourist guidebook. He felt he had to take charge and introduce Malfoy to the good sides of the Muggle world. Not that he himself liked that world – he never missed the ten years he lived as a Muggle – but he wanted to encourage Malfoy's tolerance of it, hoping that would somehow redeem him and help erase the history of bad blood between them.

But Malfoy was not paying much attention to Muggle architecture. "Willemina fancies you," he informed Harry, interrupting his explanations of why the buildings in Amsterdam were so narrow. "I heard her talking about asking you out tonight."

Harry was surprised; he had not noticed any signs that she was interested, and he most definitely had not given her any impression of attraction.

"Are you going to go out with her?" Malfoy asked, picking imaginary lint from his jumper.

Harry frowned. "She's a girl. Not my type, remember? And besides, she only wants me 'cause I'm the Famous Harry Potter."

"How do you know?"

_What else would she want me for?_ Harry thought sullenly. "I just do," was all he said.

"So you won't go, even if she asks you?"

"No, I'll just try to avoid her or tell her I have other plans or something."

"Good," Malfoy said, and then cringed. He coughed. "G-good _weather_, I mean," he corrected. He waved at the sky as an afterthought and made a face as if he was appalled with himself.

Harry studied him from the corner of his eye and smiled. "Yes, it's been surprisingly nice today."

The cabin door creaked open and Henk peeked through. "We're heading back now," he said. He glanced at Malfoy. "Siegfried was having one of his tantrums there earlier, sorry you had to witness it," he added, then turned to Harry. "If you ever change your mind and decide to get into professional Quidditch, keep us in mind, will you?"

Harry smiled politely and Henk went back inside.

"Potter, can I ask you something?"

Harry guessed what it was. "No."

"Why don't you want to play professional Quidditch?"

"Why did you ask me if you could ask, if you were going to ask me anyway?"

"Because it's the polite thing to do, of course. Hasn't anyone ever taught you basic manners?" Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Well? Why don't you want to play?"

Harry signed. "As I already explained, I'm going to be an Auror."

"But why? Why would anyone rather be an Auror?" Malfoy asked. Then his lips curled into a smirk. "I know. You went to new players tryouts and failed, didn't you?"

"No I didn't! I passed!" Harry said, and immediately regretted it. He had never told anyone about this. He had only gone to the tryouts to see if he could do it, if he was good enough. He never expect he would pass in flying colours. Sometimes he wished he had not tried out at all; the constant pondering of _what if_ and _what could have been_ if he had taken another path made him miserable, so he tried to forget about it. He never quite managed, though.

Malfoy was still smirking. "You expect me to believe the Famous Harry Potter competed in the tryouts and passed, and it didn't make the papers? Ha!"

"It wasn't in the papers because I used Polyjuice Potion. I didn't want them to recognise me and give me special treatment." _Or laugh at me if I failed_.

Malfoy's smirk slid off his face. "You're kidding, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm only kidding," Harry lied. It was better to leave it be.

Malfoy grabbed his arm tightly and turned him around so they were facing each other. "You could play professionally and you turned it down?"

Harry pulled his arm back. "I wanted to be an Auror since I was fourteen!"

"And I bet you wanted to play professional Quidditch since you were eleven!" Malfoy retorted. He was right, of course. "I don't understand you. You've been doing an Auror's job for years. Aren't you tired of fighting and killing?"

"You think I like it?" Harry burst out. "That I… that I… _enjoy_ killing and hurting people?"

"You must like it," Malfoy said, unfazed by Harry's bristling. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have wanted to keep doing it for the rest of your life."

"You don't understand!" Harry had debated this with himself so many times, but it always came down to the same conclusion. "After the Final Battle, before I even took my N.E.W.T.s, the Head Auror told me that there was a seat reserved for me in training. Everyone I know, _everyone_ – my friends, the entire fucking wizarding world – expects me to be an Auror. I can't tell them all, 'Sorry, I don't give a damn about saving your lives anymore; I feel like flying and chasing balls right now', can I?"

"But you already saved them - you killed the Dark Lord, the most powerful Dark Wizard of all." Malfoy snorted. "Think about it - you reached the top of your Auror career before even starting it – you can't get any higher than that. What would you do for the rest of your life? Chase petty little Death Eaters who'd never even done anything wrong; people who joined Him when they were kids who didn't know any better?" 'People like me' was left unsaid.

Malfoy had a point. After everything Harry had been through during the war, being an Auror did not seem all that challenging. But he was not doing it for himself; it was for the greater good. He had to do what he had to do; it had always been that way. What Harry wanted was never a part of the equation. It was an assumed expectation that he would be an Auror, no questions asked. Until now.

Harry glanced at Malfoy's defiant face. Perhaps Malfoy thought Harry should do what he really wanted because Malfoy did not see him as someone extraordinary. To him, Harry was average – or less than average. It was oddly liberating. He wished the rest of the world could see him as something other than a cookie-cutter hero.

"Just imagine playing for real," Malfoy continued, talking fast and eagerly. "In a huge pitch, against other competent players. Imagine winning the League Cup, and the run-ups, and even the World Cup itself! You'll have so much to aspire to, to live for."

The image of the huge golden cup sprang to Harry's mind. He could picture himself lifting it into the air after winning the game, the crowd jumping up and down in ecstasy, cheering for him. He had been fantasising about it for seven years, ever since he was fourteen. "You're right. I know you are. But the path is already laid out for me, I can't _not_ follow it. I can't disappoint everyone." His voice was beginning to crack.

He looked away at the quacking ducks in the canal. One of them spread its wings, seeming to soar, but only skimmed over the water with its legs as if running, never taking flight. Harry watched them, ignoring Malfoy's eyes on him, until the boat sailed too far away and the ducks were lost from view. "It doesn't matter what I want," he said eventually. "I'm the one who killed Voldemort. It's what I'm good at – catching and killing Dark Wizards."

Malfoy tilted his head and caught Harry's eyes. "You're good at flying, too," he said.

That comment hit Harry so hard, he was breathless. It was arming, tightening. Aching.

If only it were that simple.

They were in a less touristy part of the city. Paint was peeling off the walls of the buildings and garbage gathered at the edges of the narrow canal. The water looked thick and slimy, like a swamp. "You're a grown man, Potter. You need to do what's best for _you_," Malfoy said.

Harry recognised it as what he himself told Malfoy the day before, when he advised him to defy his dead father and allow himself to be gay. "I should've known that was going to come back to bite me in the arse," he muttered to himself. Malfoy smirked. Harry tried to smile, but the corners of his lips weighed it down. "What do _you_ care if I play, anyway?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe because I want England to win the World Cup," he said simply.

A wave of warm emotions washed through Harry. Malfoy believed in him, believed he was able enough to win the biggest game. He wanted to thank Malfoy for saying those things, for being the only one who ever said them, but his throat was too tight to utter a sound. He nodded, knowing Malfoy would understand.

An elbow sliding tentatively against his own showed him that Malfoy did.

A swan passed by, holding its neck high, majestic and proud. It hooked Malfoy's attention for a few moments before he turned back to Harry. "Would you at least consider it?" he asked.

The swan's body glistened bright white against the dark water. Harry wondered if the water was not as gloomy as it seemed. "Yeah, I'll think about it," he said, smiling faintly to himself.

**X X X**

With Malfoy's aid, Harry managed to avoid Willemina while they said their goodbyes and left the boat. They fell into step together, walking silently in the fading afternoon light. Harry did not question Malfoy's presence; he was thankful for it. He preferred not to know when Malfoy was planning to leave. In fact, he was not even sure when he himself would be leaving. Initially, he had had two missions in mind for his trip, the first being to visit the exhibition. He had accomplished that successfully and even had fun in the process. The second mission – to have his first sexual encounter with a man – was turning out to be trickier, with very feeble chances of success. But he _was_ feeling lucky… maybe tonight was the night. There were other places to meet men besides a crowded club.

Like a sign from above, Harry noticed something across the street – a small kiosk decorated with rainbow-coloured flags. He recognised it immediately from the pages Hermione added to his tourist guidebook. It was Pink Point – Amsterdam's gay and lesbian info and souvenir shop. Exactly what he needed.

"That's a stupid-looking place. What's with all the ugly flags?" Malfoy asked, pointing at it.

"They're a symbol of gay pride."

Malfoy, with a horrified expression on his face, refused to go anywhere near it. Wary and alone, Harry crossed the street and entered.

"Hi, there," the shopkeeper said cheerfully.

"Hi," said Harry. "I was wondering… maybe you could help me? I'm looking for a pub." He bit his lip nervously.

"Anything in particular? Do you know the name?"

"No, I'm just looking for a… er…" _A gay pub, damn it!_ It was absurd. The bloke in front of him was clearly gay, it was the gay information centre, and there were magazines with half-naked men on the magazine rack to Harry's left. He looked around the small kiosk. Even the tiny Delft Blue figurines on the shelf to Harry's right were of kissing boys and kissing girls! Yet the words seemed stuck in his throat, refusing to come out.

The shop assistant bent closer and whispered, "A _gay_ pub, maybe?"

Harry smiled his gratitude. "Yes. I'm still new to this," he apologised.

The bloke grinned broadly. "Not a problem. Welcome to Amsterdam and out of the closet!" His voice had a bolstering quality to it and his smile was infectious, making Harry feel welcome and a bit more hopeful. He gave Harry a name and address, and promised the pub would not be too crowded. Then he added, "You have beautiful eyes." He watched Harry expectantly, his white teeth twinkling.

Harry stared at him, astounded. A warm tickle blossomed in his stomach, but it could have been just his recovering ego. The bloke was nothing special: short black hair, average height and weight. But he had a pretty smile and a kind face, and if Harry was not mistaken, he might have been hitting on him. Unless he was just being friendly… it was his job, helping and being friendly; it probably did not mean anything. "Thank you," was all Harry said, afraid of making a fool of himself by making the wrong assumptions.

Something bumped hard into his back and Harry jumped. It was Malfoy. "What's taking you so long?" Malfoy barked, piercing the shop assistant with a venomous glare. Harry wondered how long Malfoy had been there and if he had heard everything.

"Oh. Hi," the shop assistant said, no longer smiling.

Malfoy ignored him. He tugged at Harry's sleeve. "Let's go! All those bright colours make me want to scratch my eyes out." He grabbed Harry's wrist, and pulled him out of there.

Harry waved goodbye to the shopkeeper. He did not even catch his name.

**X X X**

The good mood and confidence Harry had regained earlier that day had melted away. He was already on his fifth round of drinks and still nobody had made a pass at him. Although Malfoy, Harry noticed with irritation, was definitely receiving his fair share of lustful looks from the surrounding men. Harry was secretly thankful the disdain on Malfoy's face kept those men from coming near.

Malfoy stood up from the table. "Come with me to the toilets," he said.

Harry smirked. "Is that a romantic invitation?"

"Ha, ha, very funny. Now get up," Malfoy ordered.

"What do you need me for? We're not _girls_, I'm not going to powder your nose, or whatever it is they do in there."

"I'm not going in there alone, Potter! What if -" Malfoy leaned down and whispered, "What if there are men in there, doing… _stuff_?"

He must have been thinking about the Dark Room in the club, Harry realised. "It's not that kind of place, don't worry," he said reassuringly. When Malfoy kept standing there, waiting, Harry snapped, "I'm not coming with you!"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Fine!" he spat. "But if anything happens to me it's on _your_," he pointed at Harry, "conscience." He stomped away.

Harry laid his elbow on the table and rested his forehead on his palm, staring into his drink and pondering whether he should order more or just give it up and call it a night.

"'ello."

Harry started and looked up to see a man sitting in Malfoy's chair, smiling at him. "Er… hello." He glanced over to the toilet door and then back at the stranger.

"_Parlez-vous francais_?" the man asked.

"Sorry, I only speak English."

"A _British_ gentleman, 'ow lovely," the man said in a thick French accent. "My name is Pierre Patton." He reached out a hand to Harry.

Harry shook it. "I'm Harry P-" for a second he hesitated to use his real name, but eventually decided it did not matter. "Harry Potter."

Pierre held on to his hand and Harry thought that maybe it was a custom in France to shake hands for a longer time – _much_ longer – but then he noticed with a jolt the man's fingers were rubbing slowly against his own, and it finally hit him – that man was coming on to him!

His breath caught in his throat and he stared stock-still at their joined palms. His first instinct was to pull away, but he did not want to be rude. Besides, wasn't that exactly what he wanted, the reason he came to Amsterdam? Sure, the man was not exactly Harry's type. He was old – probably in his forties. His brown hair was flaked with grey, and the shiny bald patch in the centre of his head was covered unsuccessfully by loaned strands from the side. A glance at his face proved without doubt that his intentions were far from innocent – he was bluntly leering at Harry, his small eyes roaming hungrily over every visible inch of Harry's body. Harry squirmed in his seat.

"Are you 'ere on 'oliday?" Pierre asked.

Harry jumped. He could not remember the last time he was this nervous. "I'm… I…yes." Pierre lowered Harry's hand to the table and covered it with his own clammy hand, gliding and stroking. Harry squirmed again, unsure how to react.

"I live near 'ere, very lovely place just around ze cornair. You want to see it?" Pierre asked with a suggestive raise of an untidy eyebrow.

Harry opened his mouth, but no response came out. This was the chance he was waiting for, probably his _only_ chance to ever sleep with another man. Even if the other man was not exactly his Prince Charming.

As Harry did not answer, Pierre leaned closer. "You are vairy 'andsome, did you know? Ze prettiest boy in 'ere," he said softly and Harry's heart gave a tiny flutter at the words. It has been a long time since he had felt attractive, and hearing a compliment like that from someone who did not only say it because of his fame made him a little light-headed. Well, that and the five drinks he had consumed.

Harry gulped and made up his mind. "I'd love to come with you," he said resolutely and Pierre smiled in satisfaction. Harry tried hard not to notice the wide gap between his small front teeth. _You're not much of a catch yourself_, he chastised himself.

The strange squeaking noises that sounded when they rose from the table drew Harry's attention to Pierre's tight leather trousers. He smothered a snigger in the last of his drink, and followed Pierre to the door.

"Potter!" Malfoy hurried towards him. "Where do you think you're going?!"

With all the tension, Harry had completely forgot Malfoy was there. "Just a second," he told Pierre, who went to wait outside.

"Who's he?" Malfoy asked, frowning suspiciously towards the door.

"I'm going with him. Here, you can stay at the hotel if you want," Harry said and gave Malfoy the room keys. "Goodnight." He left quickly, not particularly proud of what he was going to do and with whom.

After less than two minutes of walking silently beside Pierre, Malfoy called out to him again. "Potter! Hey, Potter, wait!" They stopped and waited for Malfoy to reach them. "Where are you going? What's going on?" he asked, panting from the short run.

Harry sighed impatiently. "I already told you – I'm going with him for a while. I'll meet you in the hotel later or tomorrow."

"What are you going with _him_ for?" Malfoy asked snidely.

Harry clenched his jaw. "I'm sure you can imagine. Now stop following me and go away." He just wanted to get it over with already.

For a short while, Malfoy stayed behind and Harry thought he was rid of him.

He was wrong.

"So that's what's left of the great Chosen One?" Malfoy shouted after him. "A pathetic loser who can't even find himself a decent shag, and feels satisfies with anyone who agrees to have him?" Malfoy laughed, a nasty sound that cut through the chilly night air.

Harry bowed his head and kept walking, trying to ignore the hurtful words.

"Your friend seems upset," Pierre said. "Maybe 'e wants to join us?" he asked and rubbed his hands together greedily. "I don't mind, not at all." He smiled his toothy smile again. A wave of nausea floated over Harry.

Malfoy refused to give up, still walking behind them, calling after Harry. "You're not very popular here where they don't care about your stupid scar, are you, Potter? Nobody throws themselves at your feet, so instead you need to throw yourself at them. How very sad. So how does it feel, being a _nobody_?" Harry did not need to see him to know he was sneering gleefully; it was evident enough in his voice. "Well, it's about time you get it into your big, ugly head – all you have going for you is your fame. _Nothing_ more!"

Harry bit his lip, refusing to let anyone see it was trembling. It felt like a knife spearing through him. Normally, he did not care what Malfoy thought of him, he would not have cared if it was not exactly what he thought himself. Malfoy was tearing him inside out, voicing his deepest insecurities for the world to hear. Confirming them.

They crossed a bridge. Malfoy sped up his steps. "You've done your thing," he went on, quieter now that he was closer. "Fulfilled your destiny and now you're not needed any more. It won't take long before our world forgets all about you too, and than you'll be nothing, worthless and alone just like you are here."

And there it was, Harry's biggest fear of all – to have no more ways to prove himself, to be forgotten, to be the unwanted lonely boy under the stairs again.

He could not take it any more. He turned on his heel, marched up to Malfoy, grabbed his shoulders, and pushed him backwards. "Don't you think I know all that?" he growled into Malfoy's stunned face. "So you can save your breath." He pushed Malfoy one more time for good measure, and then let go of him.

Malfoy's angry expression shifted into confusion. "What?" he asked softly.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, just… just leave me alone, OK? _Please._" His tone came out more subdued than he would have liked, but he could not help it. He turned his back on Malfoy, and went back to Pierre.

Pierre's beady eyes were glinting as he looked over Harry's shoulder at Malfoy. "So 'e is joining us? Zat is lovely," he said. He licked his lips repeatedly; the tip of his tongue poking out like a snake's. Harry felt his stomach curl, and breathed slowly, willing himself not to be sick. "Hello," Pierre said, and reached a hand to Malfoy, who came to stand in front them. Harry could not understand why Malfoy was still there, torturing him.

Malfoy glared at the outstretched hand and then at Pierre's eager face with utmost disgust until the man slowly lowered his hand back to his side. Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him aside again. Harry wanted to resist him, but could not muster the strength to do so.

"Don't do this, Potter," Malfoy said, his voice no longer cold and angry, but soft. Softer than Harry had ever heard it.

Pierre's voice, however, was becoming irate. "'Arry, you come or no?" he asked. He was no longer smiling.

"Yes, please don't go," Harry said and struggled to push past Malfoy, but Malfoy held on.

"I can't believe this, you're _begging_ him now?" Malfoy asked, incredulous.

Harry looked down the street they came from, hearing the faint sounds of laughter and music, and refused to meet Malfoy's eyes. The streetlamps and distant neon lights seemed blurred, as if his glasses were dirty. "What do you want from me, Malfoy?"

"I want you to stop this nonsense and go back to the hotel with me."

Harry batted his hand away and took a few steps backwards until his back hit the wall of a building. "_No_. I'm going with him, and I'm going to have sex," he said stubbornly and crossed his arms, still not facing Malfoy.

"You're drunk. You don't know what you're doing."

Harry rubbed his face. "I'm fine," he insisted.

"No, Potter, you're _not_ fine. Have you even looked at this man?" Malfoy did not bother to lower his voice. "Why would you want that revolting, perverted, old frog? I know you have this twisted… _thing_ for balding men, but comeon – he's old enough to be your grandfather! And he's _creepy_!" He shuddered in emphasis.

"But he's all I can get!" said Harry in a harsh whisper. "As you said yourself, I'm not very popular here. I can't afford to be choosy, can I? I -" he swallowed around the lump in his throat, "I should probably be thankful to him for agreeing to… to have me." He knew he should be embarrassed, and that Malfoy was not his friend and would use this against him. But he could not keep this inside – the feelings were too painful, like poison.

Malfoy's eyes widened a fraction. "Potter, I didn't mean… You weren't supposed to _listen_ to me!"

"But you were right. Everything you said… You were right." Harry choked on the last word. The world was spinning slowly around him and he slumped against the wall.

Pierre started gesturing widely with his hands, saying things Harry could not understand but suspected were swear words. Malfoy shouted back at him, also in French, and the man walked away, probably back to the pub to pick up somebody new, Harry realised with a pang. "Wait, don't go!" he cried and made to follow him, to stop him, but Malfoy's firm grip prevented it.

They remained alone in the street. The cold was biting at Harry's face and hands. "Look what you've done; you made him leave!" Harry whined.

"Trust me, Potter, you'll thank me in the morning. You're too pissed to think clearly right now."

Malfoy was searching Harry's eyes with his own and Harry could not bear it. He covered his face with his hands and slid down the wall, wishing he could disappear beneath the surface of the canal and be swallowed by silent darkness.

A hand brushed gently over Harry's hair and then it was gone. "No, Potter, don't sit on the pavement, it's dirty," Malfoy said. Then he giggled. Harry glanced up from between his fingers and saw Malfoy smirking. "You really _should_ stand up now, Potter. If people will see you kneeling in front of me like that, they might get the wrong idea about what we're doing here."

Through all the misery and despair, a snot of laughter escaped Harry. "Is that all you have on your mind?"

"Me?" Malfoy exclaimed with a dramatic hand on his chest. "I'm not the one who nearly did it with Mr I'm So Ugly Even My Hair Ran Off!"

Harry laughed again. His head was beginning to throb painfully, but his heart was feeling lighter. "He wasn't that bad," he said.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, OK, maybe he was," Harry admitted. "But it's not like I'm much better."

Malfoy's brow creased in a frown. He squatted down and prised Harry's hands away from his face. "Are you fishing for compliments?"

Harry sighed. "No. Never mind, forget it." Malfoy heaved him up and Harry let him. He was feeling a bit wobbly.

They walked back to the hotel in silence, side-by-side in the tree-lined street by the canal. Malfoy seemed lost in thought while Harry concentrated on walking straight and not stumbling on the cobblestones. When Malfoy suddenly spoke, Harry started.

"Just so you know, Potter, even if you're not everyone's hero, doesn't mean you're… you know… _that_ bad. I mean… you're not too awful to look at." He shrugged. "I suppose."

Harry stared at him. "Wow, you surely know how to flatter a bloke. I must be blushing," he drawled. Even though he meant to be sarcastic, he was surprised he really did feel warmer at the words.

Malfoy made a face at him.

Harry grinned. "Well, you're not a complete troll yourself," he said, and Malfoy hit him on the shoulder. Harry tripped and fell on a tree. Which was lucky, because if the tree were not there, Harry would have fallen into the canal.

Malfoy sniggered. "Careful now, you don't want to fall in the water, do you?" He clicked his tongue. "I hope you're not expecting me to jump in there to save you if you do. Because I won't. I'll just stand right here, dry, and watch you drown." He sneered. Nevertheless, he _did_ go around to Harry's right, wordlessly forcing Harry to walk on the left, farther from the canal bank.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

Author's notes: Please let me know what you think - what you liked and/or what you hated. Concrit and feedback are highly appreciated. Thanks for reading! 

Links to pictures of some of the places Harry and Draco visit in Amsterdam can be found on my profile page.


	5. Seeing the Attractions

Summary: Harry is trying to find himself, and Draco is trying to hide away. An unexpected meeting in Amsterdam teaches them that the past is nothing but water under the bridge, and that sometimes, what you need most is just a bit of bad luck.

Pairing: Harry/Draco. This is **slash**, so be warned!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and the people who bought it. I'm not 1 of them.

Betas: anthimaeria, bewarethesmirk, and lilyfirebolt - the most wonderful betas in the world. Thank you, ladies! Another special thanks goes to hpbritglish.

**Special note:** due to rules, I couldn't post the **NC-17** version of this chapter here. It's not that different, only has a few more sentences with more explicit sexual content, but if you want to read it anyway tell me in a comment or message and I'll send you the link to the more explicit version.

* * *

**Seeing the Attractions**

"Potter?" someone whispered

Harry's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright, heart racing and wand in hand.

"Don't kill me!" the voice came again.

"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged, blinking in the harsh morning light. He slumped back in bed, rubbing his face. His forehead was sweaty against his palm and his head was throbbing painfully. "What d'you want?"

Malfoy relaxed his shoulders, as if feeling safe now that Harry was not going to hex or strangle him. Harry looked away, guilt churning his stomach. He knew he behaved like a freak in the mornings.

Using his best whiny voice, Malfoy said, "It's late and I'm hungry and you wouldn't wake uuup."

Harry's stomach rumbled in agreement. "Fine," he said, and stepped out of bed towards the bathroom, holding his head to keep his brain from bouncing against his skull.

"Can I open the window now?" Malfoy asked, still in whiny mode.

"Sure, knock yourself out."

Harry felt much better after his shower and a simple healing spell for his headache, but the memories from the previous night weighed down on him. Malfoy had not mentioned it yet, but Harry knew it was a matter of time before Malfoy used the events he had witnessed as humiliating ammunition. He took the remote control from the little table and turned on the television, pressing the volume button to make it loud enough to drown the sound of running water from Malfoy's shower, hoping it would distract him from his worries. He sat on the bed and flipped through the channels. Nothing seemed interesting, even though there were various English-speaking channels. It was no surprise – he learned long ago that television was not as exciting as he had thought it was when the Dursleys had forbidden him to watch it.

The sweet scent of peaches engulfed him when Malfoy opened the bathroom door and emerged naked from a hazy cloud of warm fog and steam, towelling his hair. Harry was already used to him being naked. Well, mostly used to it – one part of him still found the view rather exciting. He crossed his legs and tugged down the hem of his shirt as inconspicuously as he could, even though Malfoy paid no attention to him – Malfoy's hands froze on the towel and he was staring wide-eyed at the television.

"It's a telly," Harry explained. "Something like a combination between the WWN and moving photos."

"I don't like it." Malfoy took two careful steps back. "Make it stop."

Harry sighed. "You need to overcome your Mugglephobia, you know." But he turned off the television anyway.

The warm colours, light breeze, and sweet aroma of baked goods in the hotel's little dining room were not enough to relieve Harry's nerves. He could not understand why Malfoy had not yet raised the topic of yesterday's events, and the anxious waiting made him tense each time Malfoy opened his mouth. Steeling himself, he decided to be brave and confront the issue. "Thank you for… for last night. For, er… stopping me," he said without looking up from the task of disassembling his croissant.

Malfoy opened another package of chocolate to spread on his toast before answering. "It was too embarrassing to watch. I had to stop it."

The fork rattled as it fell on Harry's plate, and he cringed. "Oh. Right." It was as if the bottom had dropped out from under his feet. He could handle mockery and he could handle sympathy, but the bored tone in Malfoy's voice and his indifference hit him like a bucket of icy water. He knew he should probably be thankful that Malfoy was not making a big deal out of it, but it _was_ a big deal – he had revealed his deepest fears to Malfoy and admitted to things he had not told even his closest friends, and Malfoy was acting as if it was nothing more than a dull show.

Harry bit his lip and faced away to stare out of the window, unseeing. "Still. Thank you. It was nice of you," he said, unable to let go.

Malfoy froze for a second. Then he put aside the empty package of chocolate and sighed impatiently. "Did you hear anything I said yesterday?" He snorted. "I don't think '_nice_' is the word to describe it."

Harry could not understand the tinge of anger in Malfoy's tone, but at least it was a more passionate response. He shrugged, still not meeting Malfoy's eyes. "You told me the truth. Nobody ever does. I appreciate it."

"Listen to me, Potter; I didn't do it for you, OK? I couldn't care less who you fuck, I just didn't want to be stuck alone in the middle of Muggle Nowhere. I'm not _nice_."

Harry frowned at him. "Nice is not an insult, you know…"

Malfoy closed his eyes and let out an exasperated breath. "You helped me out of that club the other day, so we're even now. Does that make you feel better? Can I eat my breakfast in peace now?"

Harry could have left it at that, but his conscience would not let him. "You're forgetting I was the one who made you go to that club in the first place."

"Fine." Malfoy's smirk seemed forced and stony, the usual glint absent from his eyes. "You owe me, then," he said and returned to his toast.

Harry stared at the floating fruit bits in his orange juice, wondering if he should be worried.

"I didn't know you spoke French," he finally said, glad to find a way to change the subject and hoping to lighten the dark mood that engulfed their table.

"I don't, I hate French. It all sounds like blah blah blaaah." Malfoy twisted his tongue and lips grotesquely as he demonstrated the language.

"But you spoke it yesterday. You were shouting something at… at…" Harry tried to remember the name of the person who almost became his first gay lover, but failed. "That man."

Malfoy chuckled. "Oh, that. Those are the only French words I know. You see, when I was younger my parents insisted that I learn important words in the native tongues of the countries where we vacationed. So I learned as many nasty and foul swear words as I possibly could." The right side of Malfoy's mouth lifted in a tiny smile that made his face seem warmer, albeit sad somehow.

Harry found himself mirroring the expression. "So what did you tell… er… What's-His-Name?"

And there it was, The Smirk. Malfoy's lips stretched slowly to the sides, his head tilted back, and his eyelids lowered over flashing grey. "Oh, you know," he drawled. "Just something about his parentage and some acrobatics I doubt he's talented or equipped enough to perform." His eyebrow quirked suggestively.

Harry laughed, feeling better and lighter than he had since waking up. He grabbed a fresh croissant from the tray.

When they finished eating, Malfoy sat back on his chair and crossed his arms. "I've been thinking, and I've chosen my demands."

Harry blinked at him. "Huh?"

"My demands, remember? For what you owe me." At Harry's confused expression, he continued, "For saving you from a dreadful shag last night."

"Oh. Alright, let's hear it."

"First, I want to see the famous sights. The places from that little book of yours."

Harry nodded. It was a much more rational demand than he had expected. "I s'pose we can do that."

"And more importantly – no more clubs. Or bars! Or anything of _that _kind at all."

Harry snorted. "Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it." He might have been a brave and stubborn bloke, but he knew when to quit. He would just have to deal with the fact there would be no glorious gay sex in his future.

They descended the hotel's steep and narrow staircase, placing their feet horizontally on each step for stabilisation. The staircases at Hogwarts with all their quirks and missing steps seemed like a child's play compared to these Amsterdam death traps. "Where do you want to go first?" he asked once they were safe out of the front door.

Malfoy shrugged. "What are this city's attractions? Where do all the tourists go?"

"There are a few popular art museums…"

"I'm not _that_ gay," Malfoy said, shaking his head.

Harry laughed with relief. Truthfully, he found art to be boring, even more so when it was not moving or talking. "Well, it's a sunny day; we can go to the park," he said, pointing to Vondelpark in his guidebook.

"If we go to the park, you'll need to buy me ice cream."

"Is that another one of your demands?"

"Well, yes. Yes, it is, Potter."

Harry feigned a sigh. "Then you leave me no choice," he said and grinned at the pavement.

By the time they reached the park, both had their jackets slung over their shoulders and their sleeves rolled up their arms. They entered the park through an iron gate and immediately jumped sideways to avoid a group of cyclists that nearly ran them over. "Sodding Muggles!" Malfoy shouted after them, but they were already gone.

The main path of the park was packed with people jogging, dog-walking, roller-skating, and bicycling. Harry preferred walking on the narrower side path, where it was cooler under the shades of the surrounding trees. A movement in the bushes caught his attention and he reached for his wand. His heart missed a few beats as he realised the wand was in the pocket of his folded jacket, not easily accessible. Another step forward, and he relaxed – it was just a Muggle, though obscured in shadows and making strange noises. Then a realisation sank – it was impossible to mistaken that fervent hand movement.

"Potter," Malfoy said, frowning. "Is it normal for Muggles to be tossing off in public?"

"Not more normal than it is for wizards. Actually, I don't think it's legal, even here."

"Intriguing. I've never tried it in public," Malfoy said conversationally. "Besides wanking in the bathroom in Hogwarts. But nobody saw me there, of course, so it's not the same. I mean, it isn't public unless you have audience, right? Oh, and I wanked in my bed in the dormitory, but I closed the hangings so it still doesn't count, and… POTTER! Why are you smiling at me like that?"

"You mean you wanked in the _Prefects'_ bathroom?" Harry asked.

"Well, sure, it's only the best place in the world for that! The tap with the amber handle had the slickest, most slippery bubble bath – the most perfect lube a boy could hope for. I want a tap like that at home, but I don't know what it's made of. Nobody knows, it's some secret from the Founders' time. I bet Snape knew, but I couldn't just ask him, he would've seen right through -" Malfoy stopped mid-speech and squinted suspiciously at Harry. "What's the matter with your face? Is it stuck that way or something? Stop smiling!"

Harry chuckled. "Sorry," he lied. "I just thought you should know that you _had_ audience. Moaning Myrtle. And by the way, of course I know that tap – it was every prefect boy's favourite. It made them smell like honey and…" he trailed off, wondering why sniffing boys had not alerted him sooner to his true sexual preferences.

"Yes, I remember…" Malfoy said, smiling distractedly. Then he shook his head. "Moaning Myrtle? She wasn't there; she was at the girls' toilets."

"Trust me, she was there. Stalking the boys."

Malfoy gasped. "There _were_ times when I thought I saw something!" Ignoring Harry's laughter, he continued, "That damn perverted ghost. If I'd known who killed her and set her loose in Hogwarts, I would've killed him too!"

Harry stopped laughing. "Too late, I've already done it," he said. There was no response, and Harry turned to see Malfoy staring at him questioningly. "Voldemort killed her," he explained. "Using the Basilisk. And I killed them both, so…" Harry shrugged. He wished he had not brought this up.

He could almost see Malfoy connecting the dots in his brain. "She _did_ say something about scary eyes, but I never paid much attention." He started laughing, but ceased abruptly when he noticed Harry was quiet. "Well, then…" he said, suddenly serious, "Good job killing them." Then he did something unexpected – he gently punched Harry on the shoulder.

It was the most contrived and awkward gesture Harry had ever seen him making. "Er. Thank you," Harry said just as awkwardly, and they lapsed into silence. It was a nice day – he did not want to ruin it with War Talk.

"Hey, look," Malfoy said, pointing at a pond, "Ducks!"

The ducks were no different from all other ducks they have seen everywhere in Amsterdam. _Thank you_, Harry thought, and this time he meant it. There was a peculiar warm feeling in his chest, knowing that Malfoy deliberately changed the subject instead of taking everyone else's usual route of digging deeper at old wounds.

All around the pond, people, some even in their swimming suits, were lounging on the grass, sunbathing. Malfoy refused to sit on the grass like a plebeian, so he and Harry waited for one of the benches to be evacuated. They sat there, enjoying the sun's warmth while talking and laughing about nothing in particular. Harry breathed deeply, savouring the fresh smell of vegetation and earth. It was nice not doing anything; having nowhere to hurry to, with no need to hide his identity. No missions to complete, no constant need to find men... just like a real holiday. He had not realised how much he had needed one.

A little girl with ice cream – in her hand, on her shirt, and all over her face – passed them by. Malfoy looked at her longingly. "You owe me ice cream," he reminded Harry.

"I'll go buy some. Wait here so no one will take out bench. I'll be right back." He walked towards the restaurant that he saw earlier, just around the pond.

"Chocolate!" Malfoy called after him.

Harry smiled. "I know," he muttered to himself.

He bought vanilla ice cream for himself, and chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce and sprinkles on top for Malfoy, thinking he would like the addition. When he returned, Malfoy had company. A man with broad shoulders and long hair was sitting with him, speaking with wild-handed gestures that Malfoy followed warily. Harry faltered in his steps and came to a halt a few steps away from them, an ice cream cone in each hand, unsure of what to do.

Malfoy ran over to him, and to Harry's great surprise, curled an arm around his waist. Harry opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but shut it when Malfoy pinched him in the tender spot right above his hipbone.

Malfoy turned to the stranger on the bench. "This is my boyfriend, Potter," he said. "Harry," he corrected hurriedly. "I call him Harry because he's my boyfriend." He leaned his head on Harry's shoulder as if suddenly remembering he could. "We're in love. He bought me ice cream," he said and took the chocolate ice cream from Harry's hand. He looked down at it and then grinned up at Harry. "With sprinkles!"

The man held up his hands in defeat. "Well, you can't blame a guy for tryin'," he said in a round American accent, and left.

Malfoy quickly dropped his hand from Harry's body and went back towards the bench. "The Muggle didn't believe I have a boyfriend."

"You _don't_ have a boyfriend," Harry said, trying to ignore the coldness left behind where Malfoy's warm body was touching his.

"Still, he shouldn't have questioned me. It's rude," Malfoy said, happily licking his ice cream. "Can you believe it? That Muggle was chatting me up! A _Muggle_!"

Harry sat numbly beside him and stared ahead. The ice cream was melting, dripping on his fingers, but he could not bring himself to eat it. "I've been here for days and nobody even glanced my way, and you're sitting alone for two minutes, and already men are falling at your feet! I don't get it. _Why_?" He did not mean to voice it, especially not to Malfoy, but the question burst out, rising like bile and stinging his tongue.

Malfoy stared at him with a quirked eyebrow. "Because I'm so much cuter?"

It was too much. Harry rose numbly from the bench, chucked his ice cream in the bin, and wiped his sticky fingers on his jeans. "I'm going home."

"Wait! Why did you throw away perfectly good ice cream?" Malfoy asked, speeding after him. "And why are we going back to the hotel? It's so nice out."

"_We_ aren't going anywhere! I'm going home, alone, to London," Harry said over his shoulder, walking blindly ahead. He could not stop wondering what it was that Malfoy had that he did not. Jealousy burned like acid in his stomach.

"You want to know why Muggles don't make passes at you?" Malfoy said behind him.

Harry gritted his teeth. "I think I have the gist of it already, thanks." The bitterness oozed into his voice, making it sound harsh and distorted.

"And I think you _don't_." Malfoy grabbed his hand and turned him around. "It's because you're intimidating."

He heard it before, that his fame was intimidating, that his power was. But this old excuse could not work anymore. "I'm not intimidating to them; they're _Muggles_ – they don't know what I've done, that I killed -"

Malfoy shook his head. "I'm not talking about _that_. Have you ever noticed how you behave in public?"

"_What_?" Harry gaped. Oh, great. So now his _behaviour_ was bad, too. "I'm nice, I'm always polite, I'm -"

"You never look at people's faces," Malfoy interrupted.

Harry tried to pull his hand free, but Malfoy hung on to it, refusing to let go. "Yes, I do! I'm looking at you right now!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "_Strangers_, Potter, not people you're already familiar with. You always look at their hands; you never meet their eyes." He squeezed Harry's hand. "It's an old habit, I know. But the war is over," he said quietly.

Harry could not speak. He stared at his feet, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. How can he _not_ look at their hands? They might conceal a wand or a weapon… He was being cautious, as he was taught to be, as he _had_ to be to survive the war. The war… Malfoy was right – it was over, he needed to let go. But it was easier said than done.

"And most of the time you walk around with your hands in your pockets," Malfoy continued. "Holding your wand, I presume?"

Harry nodded. He did not realise he was doing it that often, but if Malfoy noticed, it was probably more conspicuous than he thought.

"And…" Malfoy said and paused as if unsure he should go on and say it. "And you have that look in your eyes, like you're… too old for your age. As if you've seen more than you should have."

"What am I supposed to do?" Harry asked. To his embarrassment, his voice was shaking. "I can't erase the past." He would never tell anyone, but sometimes he actually missed the war, with all its hardships and pain and not knowing who would survive to see the next day. They were all together back then. He had been just one member of the group, with no romances and complications, just him and his friends. Like a family.

"I know you can't erase it, that's not what I meant. Try to keep up with me, will you?" Their palms were sweaty in each other's grip, but Harry did not try to pull away any more. Malfoy's hold was like an anchor, comforting. "You see, _I_ know where this behaviour comes from. I know it's because you've done something incredible – that you vanquished the Dark Lord and saved me and my mother and the entire world. But _they_ –" he waved his ice cream around at the sunbathing Muggles "They don't know that. All they see is a distant, nervous bloke. They just don't understand." He gave Harry's hand one final squeeze and let go. "Stop making a big deal out of it. They're just insignificant Muggles."

It was like going back to his childhood, being the freak with the broken glasses and oversized clothes that nobody in school wanted to befriend. "It's just… hard being alone," Harry whispered, but it was not enough to veil the tremor in his voice.

Malfoy chuckled darkly. "You're telling me? Why do you think I still live with my _mother_?"

Despite all the anguish, Harry felt a grin break through, dissolving the darkness inside him like sunshine through clouds. He would have never believed talking to Malfoy could make him feel better, that Malfoy would actually help instead of rubbing salt in his wounds. A sense of gratitude struck him hard, and without thinking, he leaned over and kissed Malfoy's sun-warmed cheek.

Malfoy froze, and Harry stepped away and held his breath. "Y-you… you kissed me," Malfoy stuttered, gently touching his cheek where Harry's lips were a second ago.

Harry's face was so warm he was afraid steam was coming out of his ears. He rubbed the back of his neck and pretended to look at something across the pond. His first urge was to pretend it did not happen, but he knew Malfoy would not buy it. "I…" He gathered his courage, inhaled deeply and exhaled heavily. "It was just… a thank you kiss. You know, for… saying all those things. And for yesterday. It was really…" He wanted to say, '_It was nice of you_,' but did not want to upset Malfoy again with the word '_nice'_, so instead he ended with, "You know."

Malfoy still looked a bit dazed. "What does it matter to you what I think or say, anyway?"

"It doesn't. I mean…" It was a good question. Harry had to think it over. He remembered his anxiety when he found out Malfoy would be there on his first flying lesson – even back at Hogwarts when he hated Malfoy, his opinion mattered. "It… it does. Because you're honest, I guess"

Malfoy snorted shamelessly.

"Alright, let me rephrase that – you won't lie just to spare my feelings."

"And it had never occurred to you that I might actually lie just to _hurt_ your feelings?"

"Why would you do that?"

Malfoy spread his arms, displaying himself as if Harry forgot to whom he was speaking. "Because we're enemies!"

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow and Malfoy lowered his arms. "Because we used to be enemies?" he tried again.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You keep telling me to let go of the past. Maybe it's time you listen to your own advice."

"Fine, if not enemies, then what are we now?"

"Er." Harry hesitated. The answer seemed obvious to him, but he was not sure it was the same for Malfoy. "Friends?"

"I can't be friends with Harry Potter!" Malfoy blurted out.

"Why not?" It was always the other way round – people wanted to be his friends _because_ he was Harry Potter. It made him want Malfoy's friendship even more.

"Well, I would've said _because we're enemies_, but I can't now because you took that away from me. Damn it," Malfoy murmured. He sighed theatrically. "Alright, I…" he sighed again, "I suppose we can be friends. We don't want to become all melodramatic again, do we?"

"I wasn't being melodramatic. Shut up," Harry grumbled.

"Yes, you were. You're very girly, did I tell you that already?" Malfoy asked, smirking. Everything was back to normal.

Harry pushed Malfoy's shoulder and nearly knocked him over, eliciting a high-pitched shriek from him that satisfied Harry immensely. Malfoy glared at him as he laughed. "Come on, I'll buy us some new ice creams," Harry said as reconciliation, surveying the melted mess in Malfoy's hand.

Malfoy stuck out his chin. "Add sprinkles to the deal and maybe I'll consider forgiving you for assaulting me."

Harry grinned. "It's a deal."

The second ice cream tasted much sweeter to Harry and not just because Malfoy convinced him to get every topping possible. They sat by themselves at the bank of another pond, smaller and quieter than the last, and slurped at their ice cream. A big willow tree sloped into the water, hiding an assortment of wildlife behind its curtains of leaves, their rustle carrying in the background, mingling with the singing of birds and peaceful whistle of the breeze.

Malfoy was sitting beside him, slouching on the bench, one hand on his hair keeping the wind from blowing his fringe onto his face, and the other holding the cone. Harry watched intently as the top of the brown ball of ice cream disappeared in Malfoy's mouth, lips parting to take it in, and tongue darting out to lick off the sweetness left on his lips.

When the cone stopped midway instead of moving towards Malfoy's mouth again, Harry looked up, met Malfoy's eyes, and realise he had been caught staring. He looked away and noticed his neglected ice cream had dripped on his jeans. Cursing, he wiped at it, but only made the stain bigger.

"What's wrong with you?" Malfoy laughed. He discreetly pulled out his wand, and cast _Scourgify_ to clean it. "Why can't you just lay back and enjoy yourself?"

"I was!" Harry glanced at his lap, making sure it was not too obvious just how _much_ he had been enjoying himself. He refrained from looking at Malfoy until they finished eating, and when he did look, he noticed Malfoy's face was dirty again. How could an aristocrat have grown up without learning how to eat properly? "You've got some ice cream," Harry indicated the same spot on his own face, "Right there."

Malfoy wiped the corner of his mouth, but it was the wrong side. "Is it gone?"

Without pausing to consider, Harry reached his hand and swiped the side of Malfoy's lips with his thumb. When his mind caught up with his actions, he froze, stained thumb held between them. He could not believe himself – what was he thinking, touching Malfoy like that? He wondered if he should Disapparate away from there. He held his breath, expecting the worst.

Malfoy, however, seemed to be completely oblivious to the drama twisting Harry's insides. He plainly said, "Thanks," as if it was no big deal.

Harry released a shaky sigh of relief and dropped his hand. He wondered if Malfoy had no problem with physical contact. He remembered watching Malfoy hugging his mother in front of everyone in the end of his trial, and how Malfoy had laid his head nonchalantly on Pansy's lap on the Hogwarts Express. Perhaps he was used to it, to be touched and held and taken care of. He glanced sideways at Malfoy. Both his elbows were on the backrest of the bench and his head tipped backwards as he presented his face to the sun, causing his back to arch off the seat and the indigo tee shirt he borrowed from Harry to tighten over his chest.

Harry turned his head a little more towards Malfoy, allowing his eyes to roam more freely over Malfoy's exposed pale neck. He had a sudden craving to run his fingers over the protruding bulge of Malfoy's Adam's apple, to feel its ragged surface under his tongue. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, reminding himself that it was _Malfoy_. But that did not seem so wrong anymore. So what if it was Malfoy?

Something occurred to him. It was foolish and insane, he knew, but he could not help thinking that if Malfoy was such a tactile person, then maybe… maybe he too could allow himself to be a bit more tactile. He cleared his throat. "So. Where do you want to go next?" he asked, and as casually as he could, touched the side of his left trainer to Malfoy's right boot. It was not much, but it was a start.

"Where do you recommend?" Malfoy asked.

Malfoy's eyes flicked down to their touching shoes. It was just for a split second, but it was enough for Harry to berate himself for being an idiot, and he moved his foot away. "I dunno. You must've had some plans before you arrived here. Which places did you want to visit?" he asked, pretending he had not just done something completely stupid.

"I didn't have any plans, actually," Malfoy confessed. "It was a… last minute decision."

"You mean you came all the way here to escape a holiday with your fiancée," Harry corrected.

Malfoy pouted. "That's not the only reason I'm here. I also wanted to see the new broom."

How did Malfoy expect to spend the rest of his life with this woman if he could not spend one weekend with her? Harry felt sorry for him. He was about to tell Malfoy again that he should not get married, but Malfoy changed the subject.

"Let's go to the Wizarding District! I'll finally be able to buy you stuff, pay you back," Malfoy said.

"No! I mean… you can go there if you want, but I'm not coming with you. I don't want everyone to know I'm in Amsterdam." Harry knew he would never have peace once the word of his presence got out. The attention he received at the broomstick exhibition was enough.

A frown was marring Malfoy's forehead and Harry hoped he was not considering leaving. "I suppose their wizarding area won't be that different from ours," Malfoy said after a long minute. "And the Muggle world is a lot more challenging. Mother will die when she finds out." The right side of his lips tugged up cheekily.

Harry grinned. "If you stay, we could go shopping. I have enough Muggle money if you need some." He hoped he was not sounding too eager.

Malfoy grinned in return. "I love shopping!"

And so they spent the midday hours shopping for presents and souvenirs. "Oh, look!" Malfoy pointed at a hats stand outside a shop. It held all sorts of cowboy hats: leather ones with fake, tiny skulls; pink with shiny sequins; golden and velvety hats; and the one Malfoy reached for – silky, glossy green. "Let's go inside, I want to see how I look."

He dragged the reluctant Harry into the shop by the sleeve, and stood in front of a mirror. He tugged the hat lower on his forehead, and raised his chin. Placing his thumbs in his jeans pockets, he winked at Harry's reflection in the mirror. "How sexy am I?"

Harry's eyes travelled up and down Malfoy's body, from the cowboy hat to his sleek blond hair, down his back where the shirt ended to reveal the lower curve of his jeans-clad buttocks. He continued on his way down the long legs, noticing the place on Malfoy's calf where the jeans widened around the boots underneath. It was so easy to imagine how Malfoy would look wearing only those boots and that hat and nothing more… Harry's mouth watered. "Not sexy at all," he said. "Take it off."

"Liar. I look fabulous."

The shopkeeper, a tall bloke with long hair and earrings in places Harry had never thought possible, came to stand beside Malfoy. "You look hot," he said.

Harry gaped at the brazen comment, but Malfoy scowled. "I'm not hot, I'm perfectly fine. Are you suggesting I whiff of sweat?"

"No, no, of course not. I meant that you look hot, as in good. Sexy," the shopkeeper clarified quickly.

Malfoy grinned. "That's exactly what I told _him_," he said and threw a haughty smirk at Harry.

The shopkeeper did not bother to look at Harry. "And you were right," he told Malfoy.

"I'm always right." Malfoy gave him an approving look, before turning to Harry. "I want to buy it. Pay him."

Harry wanted to argue that Malfoy had no need for it, but refused to look cheap in front of the Muggle. He took out his wallet without question, and paid.

Malfoy had his back turned to them, still busy with the mirror, when Harry caught the shopkeeper checking out Malfoy's arse. His fingers itched. He had a sudden urge to curse the man's spleen out of his nose. "Stop it," he hissed, too low for Malfoy to hear, but loud enough for the Muggle to understand and recoil just as effectively as wizards always had when he hissed in Parseltongue. "Come on, Malfoy. We're leaving," he said louder, and stepped out of the shop.

They proceeded towards the flower market. Harry had passed through it hurriedly on his first day in Amsterdam, but did not stop to explore because all the people there made him too nervous. But now Malfoy insisted, and the heavenly fragrance of thousands of flowers from all over the world, boasting a mass of colours, seemed impossible to resist. The small place was chock-full with exotic plants, man-high palm trees, bulbs on top of bulbs, and all sorts of trinkets for the tourists. They walked between the stalls, slowly and carefully, worried they might accidentally knock something over.

On the street opposite from the market, connected by a wide gap between a shop and a restaurant, was the gay club they went to two days ago. Harry glanced in its direction. It looked so harmless and quiet during the day. It almost made him want to go back there. Almost.

Malfoy insisted on wearing his new cowboy hat. "You look ridiculous. Take it off," Harry requested for the fifth time.

"No."

"Why not?"

Malfoy looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Because I like seeing how red your face gets."

"Git." Harry shook his head and Malfoy grinned. It seemed he did not mind making a fool of himself as long as he embarrassed Harry in the process.

Harry bought traditional Dutch wooden clogs, tulip bulbs, and cheese wheels for his friends back home. Malfoy exchanged some of the precious stones he had in his moneybag with the jeweller and bought a diamond ring. For his mother.

"Shouldn't you buy something for your _fiancée_?" Harry asked. "Another ring, perhaps?" His marriage had taught him that an expensive present was the best way to please a woman. Much easier than sex.

Malfoy frowned in thought, and then suddenly smirked. "Or perhaps I'll buy her a fake penis contraption so she wouldn't bother _me_," he said as they passed a sex shop.

Harry laughed. "It wouldn't work. Ginny had one that Hermione bought her as a joke, and she still pestered me for sex." An idea occurred to him and he leaned closer to whisper in Malfoy's ear, "But maybe you should buy one for yourself." He never thought of it before, but now that he had, he found the idea incredibly arousing. He licked his lips as they had gone suddenly dry.

"You're sick, Potter!" Malfoy protested, but his eyes were shining with amusement. "Pervert."

"Hey, I'm not the one who wants to do it in front of his mother!" Harry said, and immediately wished he had not.

The amusement in Malfoy's eyes flickered out like a burnt match. "You promised you wouldn't laugh about it." His eyes narrowed as he added, "At least I _have_ a mother."

Harry gritted his teeth. He should have expected it; it used to be Malfoy's usual taunt. But it still stung. He thought Malfoy and him were beyond such cruelty. He turned his head away from Malfoy and widened the gap between them.

"Potter," Malfoy called, and Harry turned to see him fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. "Look, I…" He stared at his boots. "I probably shouldn't have said that."

"You think?" Harry spat.

Malfoy glanced at him from under his fringe. "I'm…" It seemed to be almost painful for him to speak. He choked on the words. "I'm sorry," he finally managed.

If Harry had not heard him in the trial, he would have thought it the first time an apology left Malfoy's mouth. He could not find it in himself to keep the grudge; he knew Malfoy did not mean it, not anymore. "Fine. I'm sorry too. I wasn't laughing at you or anything. You know I liked your fantasy. A lot."

Malfoy's eyes widened for a split second, probably baffled by the apology, but he recovered quickly. "Well, at least I don't want to be a _horse_," he drawled.

And just like that the uncomfortable tension between them was broken.

"Why don't you buy _yourself_ a fake penis, Potter?" Malfoy asked as they passed yet another sex shop. There were many of those in that street. "You know, as a part of your new exciting gay life, and all that crap."

"No, thanks. I have no desire to shove anything up my arse."

Malfoy gasped. "You _don't_? I… I mean… I… neither do I! Of course not!" he stuttered, pink creeping up his cheeks.

Harry liked how Malfoy looked when he blushed. "There's nothing wrong with it. It's alright if you like it. It's hardly a surprise considering you bottom in your favourite fantasy."

Malfoy crossed his arms and looked away. "Am not. Shut up."

"If you ask me, I rather like that attribute in a man."

Malfoy glanced sideways at him. "Do you, now?"

Harry grinned at him and Malfoy turned even pinker. Harry grinned wider. "So… How do you know you like it?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual. "I mean, have you ever… you know... shoved anything in there?"

"No! Well. No! Just…" Malfoy coughed and raised his hand to cover his mouth, wiggling his fingers meaningfully.

The movement and its implication shot straight Harry's body, as if those fingers had actually curled around him and were not just hanging there in front of Malfoy's mouth. Heat stirred at the pit of his stomach and sweat broke out on his palms. "Tell me about it?" he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse.

"Why should I?"

"Because…" _Because I'm sexually deficient and just the thought of it makes me hard_. "Because I'm curious."

"Yeah, right." Malfoy snorted. "Dream on, Potter."

Harry smiled to himself. _I most certainly would_.

They passed by yet another sex shop. "Let's go in," Harry said and turned sharply to go inside, not leaving Malfoy the chance to argue.

It was a small shop, but the shelves on each side were stockpiled to burst. Nobody was there but them and the shopkeeper – a middle-aged man with a thick black moustache, who acknowledged their presence with a tiny nod. Malfoy sneezed and Harry rubbed his own nose at the synthetic tang of rubber, foreign as no one used it in the wizarding world.

"Potter, what are we doing here? I don't want to buy anything," Malfoy whispered.

"_I_ do," Harry said, scanning the shelves. "I want a good lube." He had come to terms with the fact that he might never need it for sex with another man, but that only meant he was going to have much more quality time with himself, and he was becoming too old to use spit.

There was a gasp and Harry turned in time to see Malfoy dropping a box. He went over and picked it up. It contained one of the realistic-looking vibrators that scared Malfoy a couple of days ago, and the box had a hole where the fake testicles were so people could touch it. Harry pinched it with his index finger and thumb, and withdrew his hand in surprise. He knew it could not have been, but it felt so real! Soft, stretchy, and velvety. No wonder it frightened Malfoy.

Malfoy glared at him. "See?" he hissed. "I told you it was real." He strode over to the shopkeeper who sat behind the tall brown counter. "Tell me, what is this thing," he pointed at the box in Harry's hands, "made of?"

The man craned his neck to look. "Oh, you have good taste," he said, nodding. "It's CyberSkin."

"Aha!" Malfoy announced, pointing at the man. Harry wondered if Malfoy was a fan of old detective movies, before he remember Malfoy had probably never seen a television until that morning. "And what have you done with poor Mr Cyber after you skinned him?" he demanded, still pointing accusatorily.

Harry returned the box to the shelf and ran over to Malfoy. "You'll have to excuse my friend," he told the shopkeeper. "He's a bit -" he raised his hand to his temple and turned his finger in small circles.

"I thought so," the man said. He did not sound amused.

Harry ignored the outrage on Malfoy's face and asked the shopkeeper for help choosing the right lubrication; he had no idea there were so many different kinds and brands. Ten minutes later, they left the shop, Harry carrying a big white tube in a black plastic bag, and feeling rather proud of himself albeit a bit warm in the face. He never had the courage to enter a sex shop before that day.

To end Malfoy's rant and appease him after what happened in the sex shop, Harry offered to buy him coffee and a cake wherever he chose, knowing Malfoy only drank coffee since one of his Italian servants told him that tea was for nancy boys.

"This looks like a popular place," Malfoy said, and he ducked into a dark little shop.

Harry hurried after him. "I don't think they serve coffee here," he said, blinking in the haze of sweet scented smoke.

"What are you blabbering about, Potter? It says '_coffee_ shop' right there on the sign!" Malfoy said. Then he smirked. "Oh, right, I forgot – you're blind." Then he paused and looked around, wrinkling his nose. "It smells like Snape's office on a Sunday…"

The last comment left Harry gobsmacked for a second. Then he shook his head and caught Malfoy's wrist. "Yeah, well," he glanced at the marijuana-shaped neon sign above the bar, "It's not _that_ kind of coffee shop." He ignored Malfoy's protests and pulled him out of there.

Deciding it was safer if _he_ chose where to eat, Harry found a nice, cosy café. Malfoy took off his cowboy hat and placed it on the table when he went to the toilet, and Harry placed it in a shopping bag and shrunk it discreetly under the table so Malfoy would not decide to wear it again.

After their order arrived, Harry cast _Muffliato_ so the surrounding people would not be able to listen to their conversation. "So. When you… _you know_," Harry wiggled his fingers in indication, "it felt good?"

"You depraved little wanker! Have you been thinking about it this whole time?" Malfoy's voice was mocking, but Harry noticed the faint pink returning to his cheeks.

"No," Harry lied.

"Forget it, Potter, I'm not telling you about this."

"Oh, come on," Harry whined.

"No. Why don't you just try it yourself?"

"I did, actually, but didn't like it. It was weird," Harry confessed and Malfoy's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Well… basically it just felt like there was a finger stuck in my bum." Harry shrugged. He tried it once and it did not hurt as he feared, but it was not pleasurable either. It just made him feel silly.

Malfoy frowned. "Maybe it depends on the individual. Anyway, I like it."

Harry ears perked up at that, and so did something else. "Do you think you'll like bottoming? I mean, aren't you afraid it's going to hurt?"

"I can take three fingers and it doesn't hurt if done right."

"Oh," Harry gasped. He was very thankful for the table hiding his lower body. He absentmindedly picked up the menu and started fanning his face, lost in the mental images Malfoy's words provoked.

"Did you ever do it that way? With a girl, I mean?" Malfoy asked, seemingly oblivious to Harry's wild imagination.

Harry was instantly reminded of an incident he usually tried desperately to forget, but was now thankful for as it helped to tame down his rising excitement. "Once. After months of begging, Ginny finally agreed to let me do it, but when we tried she suddenly started screaming, wriggled around, and kicked me!"

Malfoy grimaced in sympathy. Harry did not know if it was sympathy with him or with Ginny. "Maybe you've done it wrong. You need to be slow and gentle."

"Gentle? _Gentle_? I didn't even touch her yet; it was still out!"

Malfoy laughed. "What a bint."

Maybe it was Malfoy's bad influence, but ranting about Ginny was fun. He had never done it before; his best friends were Ginny's brother and her best mate. "And you don't know what she's like. She looks petite, but she's strong as a bull! I was speaking in soprano for days."

Malfoy burst out laughing, but it was short-lived, and all too soon, he was scowling at his coffee. "Hey." Harry reached out to Malfoy, but ended up nudging his cup instead, too self-conscious. "You alright?"

Malfoy lifted his eyes to meet Harry's. "I'm getting married in less than four months," he said in disbelief as if it suddenly hit him, dread and apprehension clear in his wide eyes.

Harry offered a sad smile. "But it's what you want, isn't it? To have a baby and not to be alone?" It did not seem to ease Malfoy's worries, so Harry tried again. "Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe you two will end up being best friends."

"She doesn't even like Quidditch!" Malfoy said, his voice rising up a notch in panic. "I told her I have tickets to see the Falmouth Falcons play and she asked me what they _sing_! Can you believe that?

Harry grimaced in sympathy. At least he had liked Ginny and enjoyed spending time with her. Until everything went downhill, and they could not even tolerate the sight of each other.

Malfoy slumped in his seat, deflated. "Also…" he averted his gaze, "she wants sex."

"Yes, wives tend to want that," Harry nodded with a smirk.

Malfoy ignored the sarcasm. "I tried to, but I couldn't… you know. Get it up. I told her it's because she's too fat, and she went and stopped eating, and now she looks like a fucking skeleton and it's even _worse_."

"Why couldn't you get it up? It's not that hard. No pun intended." Harry grinned at his own wit. Malfoy pursed his lips and crossed his hands over his chest, making Harry feel guilty. "Come on, Malfoy, if it's that difficult for you, then just close your eyes and imagine she's somebody else. After all, it's just friction, not that different from your own hand. And really, coercing her to anorexia is simply evil." Harry could not decide whether he was sorrier for Malfoy or for his future wife.

"Her breasts were _everywhere_. It was scary. I had to do something to save myself!"

Before he could stop himself, Harry started laughing. He suppressed it into a fake cough. "Sorry," he said at Malfoy's glare.

Malfoy uncrossed his hands and held his palms around his cup as if trying to grasp some warmth, but Harry knew it had long grown cold. "What will I do?" he asked in a small, defeated voice.

"Well. You know you can just tell her the truth…" Harry offered.

"Oh, really? Like you told _your_ wife?"

Harry's shoulders sagged. Point taken.

Malfoy sighed and pushed away his half-full cup. "I think I need something stronger than coffee."

They left the café to search for a pub. The sunlit streets were busy with people, as if everyone in Amsterdam left their homes and hotels to take advantage of the beautiful afternoon. Harry realised he had his hands in his pockets again, holding onto his wand. He forced himself to take them out, but could not stop fidgeting and clenching his hands at his sides. Malfoy was walking quietly beside him, and, though he tried, Harry could not find anything comforting to say to him.

The pub was just as swarming with people as the street had been – people pushing each other to get to the bar and invading each other's personal space. Harry hesitated at the entrance, reluctant to be swallowed in this mass of strangers, but Malfoy went in, leaving him no choice but go inside or admit to his fear. He gulped, drew in a deep breath and followed.

People were touching him. They were loud – probably drunk, he did not know who they were, and they were _touching_ him. Heart beating fast and blood rushing in his ears, Harry was only aware somebody pushed a cold bottle to his hand and he automatically drew out some money to pay for it, anxious to escape. He tried to focus on Malfoy, but his vision was blurred and hazy, and there were too many blonds in there. His breath was coming out in short puffs, the anxiety making him dizzy.

"Come on, let's go drink this somewhere else." Malfoy's calm voice sounded in his ear. Harry almost cried in relief. He allowed himself to be guided out with a gentle hand on the small of his back.

Malfoy's hand disappeared from his back the moment they were out the door, and Harry wished it had not. The pavement outside the pub was still packed with the people-watching crowd. He walked blindly ahead, following Malfoy's pale hair as it gleamed in the sun, like a lost ship following a lighthouse beam.

Only after they had crossed the street, did Harry managed to breathe properly. He bent his neck and rolled his shoulders to loosen his cramped muscles. He chided himself for losing his grip. It was a harmless place. He should stop being ridiculous and leave the war behind him like everyone else had.

"Potter!" Malfoy called.

Harry snapped out of his musings and turned to look at him. "What?"

"I've been calling you for forever and you ignored me!"

"Sorry. I didn't hear you."

"You look pasty. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You were acting weird at the pub."

He should have known Malfoy had noticed; Malfoy seemed to notice everything. He decided he might as well tell him. "There were too many people there. I don't like it."

Malfoy nodded. "Yes, those Muggles smell funny, don't they?"

Harry laughed. "That's not what I meant. And they don't smell any different from wizards. Be nice." Malfoy grinned at him and Harry grinned back, and the last of the tension in his back dissolved.

"How did you make it into Auror training, anyway? I thought they didn't take emotionally unstable people," Malfoy said.

"I'm not unstable!" Harry protested on instinct. Malfoy raised an eyebrow and Harry snapped his mouth shut. He knew Malfoy was right. "I didn't actually take the usual tests for Auror candidates," he admitted. "I suppose vanquishing Voldemort was proof enough for them that I qualify."

"But that's ridiculous! If anyone was going to be messed up in the head, it's _you_."

Harry huffed. "Thanks a lot."

"Well, it's true, isn't it? You have a problem with crowds, you can't sleep well, you're afraid to let go of your wand, you nearly killed me because I woke you up… and you married a _Weasley_. That must be the biggest sign for brain damage."

Harry ignored the last example. "How do you always notice all those stuff about me? Like that I was weird at the pub, or that I hold my wand in my pocket?"

"I'm very observant. I can always spot people's weaknesses. It's a useful trait."

"So you can use their weaknesses against them?"

"As I said, it's a useful trait." Malfoy shrugged, unabashed.

"Yes, I remember how you used it when we were at Hogwarts."

Malfoy watched him squarely. "You don't expect me to apologise, do you? Because I won't."

Harry thought about it for a long minute. Malfoy was a nasty bugger when they were at school, but it felt like a lifetime ago and he was not so bad anymore. "Naah. It's ancient history now," he said. Everything prior to the war was, anyway.

There was a step leading to a small lower platform at the bank of the canal where people could climb out of their boats. Harry decided it was a good place for them to sit and drink their beers, just above the calm water, and away from the commotion of the street. They sat in comfortable silence and watched the waves passing boats left in the water. Harry crossed his legs and leaned back on his hand, lifting his face to soak the warmth of the sun. He brought the bottle to his lips and tipped it into his mouth, enjoying the cold beverage gliding down his throat.

Malfoy took a sip of his beer and placed the bottle on his bent knee, trying futilely to balance it. "I wish we could go to the exhibition boat again. To play some more. And this time _I'll_ catch the Squitch, of course."

Harry raised an eyebrow in defiance. "Not if I'll be playing too."

Malfoy snorted. "You're good, Potter, but I'm better. I just had a little problem with bad timing the last time."

"Right. And the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that…"

"Sod off." Malfoy elbowed him in the stomach, but not too painfully. "You were just lucky, each of those times."

A long canal cruise boat sailed by, and its occupants, mainly Japanese tourists, flashed their cameras and waved enthusiastically at them. Harry flattened his fringe.

Malfoy scowled at them. "Fans of yours?" he asked Harry and raised his hand to give them the fingers.

Harry slapped Malfoy's hand down. "No." He waved back at the tourists.

"So what do they want?"

"They don't want anything, they're being friendly."

"I don't trust them."

"Yeah, well. That's because you're paranoid."

Malfoy turned to Harry. "Said the bloke who's afraid of crowds and open windows," he drawled.

"At least I'm not terrified of sex toys."

Malfoy opened his mouth to protest. Then closed it. Then he opened it again. "It looked real!"

The sun was sinking slowly and cold wind started blowing across the water. "Do you want to keep walking? We can go to the Red Light District," Harry suggested.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Is it a gay place?"

"I don't think so."

"Then let's go."

_**To Be Continued…**_

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Author's note: Please let me know what you think - what you liked and/or what you hated. Concrit and feedback are highly appreciated. Thanks for reading! 

Links to pictures of some of the places Harry and Draco visit can be found on my profile page.


	6. Bugger Geometry!

Summary: Harry is trying to find himself, and Draco is trying to hide away. An unexpected meeting in Amsterdam teaches them that the past is nothing but water under the bridge, and that sometimes, what you need most is just a bit of bad luck.

Pairing: Harry/Draco. This is **slash**, so be warned!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and the people who bought it. I'm not 1 of them.

Betas: anthimaeria, bewarethesmirk, and lilyfirebolt - the most wonderful betas in the world. Thank you, ladies! Another special thanks goes to hpbritglish.

Warning for this chapter: Very very light drug use.

**Special note:** Sorry it took so long! Converting it from NC-17 to R (due to rules, I couldn't post the NC-17 version here) turned out to trickier than I thought. I hope I managed it without making it too confusing...

If you want to read the NC-17 version, tell me in a comment or message and I'll send you the link.

* * *

**Bugger Geometry!**

"Potter, is that what I think it is?"

Harry looked to where Malfoy was pointing, and sniggered. "Well, if you think it's a cock-shaped fountain, then yes, it is."

The brown marble penis at the top of the fountain gleamed in the light of the surrounding shops, and the two balls at its base spun continuously as water squirted out of the tip. Malfoy inclined his head and surveyed it thoroughly. "It's very…" he started to say, and paused to consider his words.

"Tacky?" Harry offered.

"I was going to say _big_, but tacky works too."

"Big, huh?" Harry grinned. "Makes you all warm and tingly inside?"

"Fuck off!" Malfoy said, but he was grinning too. "I always suspected Muggles weren't right in the head, but I had no idea they were such perverts," he said when they continued walking.

The origin of the district's name seemed obvious. Red lights shone through the glass doors and windows of the surrounding buildings, illuminating the crooked pavement and reflecting the faces of eager men hunting for women on which to spend their time and their money.

"Muggles create very believable mannequins, I'll give them that," Malfoy said. "But why make them so ugly?" He crinkled his nose at one of the red-rimmed doors. "Look at it, all fat and wrinkled." He pointed at a woman standing scarcely attired in white bra and knickers. She winked.

Harry grabbed Malfoy's sleeve and yanked his hand down. He dragged him away from the door and explained to him that the woman was a prostitute, that all the figures in the windows were real women, and that no – that did not mean the skin-like vibrator in the sex shop was real too.

It was sad looking at those women offering themselves to strangers. Harry fought the urge to lecture them until they promised to find better jobs. A part of him was annoyed that he saved those Muggles from Voldemort only so they could find other ways to ruin their lives.

The Red Light District was an interesting place, but not Harry's cup of tea. The ancient buildings on both sides of the tree-lined canal leaned forward as if burdened by time, and the sharp contrast between them and the assortment of sex shops, lust-crazed men, giggling teenagers, and peep shows made the place feel sinister and indecent. Like looking at a wise old man wearing red trashy lipstick.

A lanky bloke in dark sunglasses paused next to them. "Acid, crack, coke, Ecstasy?" he whispered mechanically for what was probably his umpteenth time that day.

Harry jumped and clutched the wand in his pocket, but it was Malfoy who answered the stranger first. "I can't understand a word you're saying," he said slowly and loudly, as if the man was deaf. "You're mumbling!"

"Want some Ecstasy, coke -" the man started to ask again, louder than before. He had a strange accent.

"No, thank you," Harry said hurriedly and pulled Malfoy away from there.

"Potter… why did he offer me that?"

"Because he's a drug dealer. Come on, let's get away from this place."

They went back towards the centre, and on the way found a pizzeria that was relatively empty of customers. If it were any other place, Harry would have thought it meant the food was bad, but his experience taught him that no matter where he went – the food was _always_ bad.

And it was. The sauce was too spicy, the dough too thick and not baked enough, and Harry suspected the yellow stuff on top was not real cheese. He was surprised Malfoy did not complain, because Malfoy always criticised every little thing: the taste, the service, the waiters' outfits, the décor. Especially when they ate Italian. Malfoy considered himself a specialist after his time in Italy.

In the last three days, Harry had learned to appreciate Malfoy's constant chatter. He liked Malfoy's wonder at the Muggle world, the silly questions that followed each new revelation, and the way his eyes shone when he spoke of Quidditch. The lack of his regular babble was oddly unnerving, and the scraping of metal cutlery against porcelain as Malfoy pushed little pieces of pizza around his plate was driving Harry slowly insane. "Malfoy? How's your pizza?" he asked, trying to spark a reaction.

Malfoy looked up at him, a frown marring his forehead. "Do I look gay?"

It was not the reaction Harry was expecting. "Er. No?"

"You don't think I'm…" Malfoy returned his eyes to his plate, "too feminine?"

Harry shrugged and smirked. "Only when you're wearing a skirt."

Malfoy did not seem amused or angry by the comment; it as if he did not even hear it. "That man, with the dark glasses, he asked if I wanted…" Malfoy's voice shook. "You heard him. I don't understand; is it written on my forehead, or something?"

Harry frowned. "What? That you need drugs?"

"That I like cocks," Malfoy whispered.

Harry placed his pizza back on his plate, wiped his oily fingers and mouth with a paper serviette, and laid his hands on the table. "Malfoy, what on Earth are you talking about?"

"He asked if I wanted ecstasy with a cock."

Harry started laughing, but suppressed it when he saw Malfoy's scowl. "He didn't say cock, he said coke. As in cocaine. You know. The_ drug_." He shook his head at Malfoy's blank expression. "Never mind. You don't look gay, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" Malfoy chewed on his bottom lip. "Because… sometimes I feel like people are staring at me oddly. Or they don't want to be too close to me."

Harry snorted. "Sorry to break it to you, but it's not because they suspect you're gay. It's because you're an evil prat." It was hard not to fall back into banter.

"I'm being serious, Potter, stop joking!"

"I'm not joking. You really _are_ deeply annoying and impossible to get along with." Harry chose to ignore the fact that he was actually having a nice time with him.

Malfoy only sighed in reply.

Bickering was no fun when it was one-sided, and for some odd reason, watching a subdued and depressed Malfoy made Harry unhappy. "I feel the same, sometimes," he said, assuming that if anything would make Malfoy feel better, it would be knowing that Harry had the same problem.

Malfoy sat straighter in his chair. "Really?"

"Yes, like everyone is looking at me oddly."

"You're Harry Potter, of course they're looking at you! It's not the same at all!"

"No, I mean… even my friends. Like when Ron points out a pretty girl to me, it sometimes feels like a dare. It's part of the reason I came to Amsterdam. Nobody notices me here, I can be myself without worrying. It's almost like… like wearing an Invisibility Cloak."

"You think maybe Weasley really knows?"

Harry shook his head. "No. He would've said something or acted differently." _Probably beat me to a pulp_.

Malfoy stretched his hand on the table until it was in front of Harry's, fingertips to fingertips, almost close enough to touch. "I never would've guessed. About you, I mean. You don't look that way," he said softly.

"Neither do you. I wouldn't have guessed, either." Then Harry remembered that he _did_ guess. "Well, if I hadn't caught you inspecting that bloke," he added quickly. "Which I only noticed because I was checking him out, too."

Malfoy's shoulders sagged. "We're doomed, aren't we?"

"Hey, we'll be fine. We survived the war, we'll survive this, too," Harry said, once again quoting Hermione's comforting words. But deep down he was terrified. He had lost so many people in his life, the fear of losing more when his friends realised he was not the man they wanted him to be was unbearable.

Malfoy caught Harry's eyes. "I've never imagined I would have something in common with you."

Harry thought that they had a lot more in common than homosexuality. Both liked smelly cheese, soft jumpers and stone bridges. Both were fanatic Quidditch fans. Both preferred the simple tulips of a single colour to the multicolour patterned ones... Harry wondered why they had not become friends sooner, but then realised he did not know if they were actually going to _stay_ friends. After all, they were in a foreign country, out of their natural territory – maybe it was just the special circumstances keeping them together. He felt as if this friendship existed on borrowed time, and was shocked to realise how much he hoped he was wrong.

He reached over the short distance between them and laid his hand on top of Malfoy's. He squeezed once and let go, Malfoy's long fingers with their smooth nails warm beneath his palm as he slid his hand back and off the table. "Now come on, eat your pizza."

Malfoy screwed up his nose. "But it tastes like a pillow."

**X X X**

Leaving most of their pizza on their plates, they decided to have a different kind of dinner – beer. Three bottles later and in a lighter mood, they continued with their trip. Harry pulled out his tourist guidebook and leafed through it quickly. "I think we've seen all the famous sights. Unless…well, I'm not sure you've seen Dam Square yet." It was very difficult to _miss_ Dam Square, but Harry tried to avoid crossing it because it was always crowded.

"Is it worth seeing?"

Harry shrugged. "It's just a monument, and the Dutch Royal Palace is there."

"I like royalty."

Dam Square was only a couple of minutes away from where they were, down the street and around the corner. "What's wrong with those Muggles?" bellowed Malfoy as a white stone pillar came into view. "Do they have to shove a cock in _every_ damn corner?"

Harry sniggered. "It's not a cock. It's a war memorial obelisk."

"It looks like a cock," Malfoy argued, craning his neck and observing the tall, pale monument.

"No. That's just your dirty mind seeing things."

Malfoy gave him a shrewd look. "As if you didn't think of a giant cock the first time _you _saw it!"

Harry smiled coyly. Sure he did.

In front of them stood the Royal Palace – a wide stone building with statues on its roof. "That's it?" Malfoy asked, looking up and down the vast building. "It's the size of my manor." He waved the building off as insignificant, and Harry wondered just how wealthy the Malfoys were.

Having drunk too much to keep their balance, they had to support themselves with a hand on the wall as they walked down an alley. Suddenly, Malfoy stopped, staring at the window of a corner shop. Harry followed his gaze and saw an enormous chocolate cake resting there. Harry did not wait for him to ask; he simply went inside, signalling Malfoy to follow, and bought each of them a slice. The narrow, spiral staircase leading to the second floor looked too risky to climb, so they sat downstairs on the barstools near the window overlooking the street, placing their plates on the shelf fixed to the glass. The cake was rather expensive for a place with such cheap decorations, and the other four customers there were smoking something that made Harry's nose sting and his eyes water. But the music was rhythmic and mellow, and Malfoy's eyes sparkled in delight as he ate. Harry decided it was worth it.

When more customers entered, the already small space seemed impossibly packed. Harry kept looking over his shoulder. He could not sit with his back turned to all those people.

"_Potter!_" A hand on his arm brought Harry's neck snapping towards Malfoy. Judging by the impatient expression on Malfoy's face, it was not the first time he had called Harry's name. "Let's leave."

Harry blinked in confusion. "But you haven't finished your cake."

Malfoy glanced at his plate and then around at all the people. "It's not that good," he said, and tried to shovel into his mouth as much of the cake as he could.

The idea that Malfoy might have offered to leave only for Harry's benefit, brought warmth to his stomach. He smiled at the back of Malfoy's head as he followed him out of the door.

The bitter cold outside brutally squashed his warm feelings. Harry shivered as the wind sent chills down his nape, and he wrapped his jacket tighter around himself.

They strolled aimlessly down the streets. Harry was feeling calmer than usual, and he found himself smiling at nothing in particular as Malfoy talked about the flowers in his gardens, buttered toast, and all kinds of things that did not seem to connect, but blurred together peacefully like a soothing lullaby.

A woman on a squeaking bicycle drove past and Malfoy started talking about flying, occasionally stopping to giggle. Harry giggled too. Malfoy caught his arm to keep him from walking. "I feel strange," he said and then giggled some more.

"Yeah…" Harry said, and looked up at the full moon that shone over their heads. When he looked back at Malfoy, white circles were marring his vision. He laughed at the round spot he saw on Malfoy's nose. "I think there was something wrong with the cake."

"It did taste weird," Malfoy said pensively. "Hey, stop laughing at me," he added when Harry chuckled again.

"But it's funny." Harry touched the tip of his finger to Malfoy's frozen nose where the white circle was dancing. "You have white here."

Malfoy went cross-eyed as he tried to look at the finger. "But I'm always white."

Harry dropped his hand. "No. No, you're different than always," he said, and they fell back into step together.

He wondered where they were, but was too lazy to check his map. Were they walking in circles? The meandering streets all looked similar, with their canals and their bridges, and trees and streetlamps. It was beautiful. They walked along the water edge, looking through the big, inviting windows of the buildings on the other side, until the lights in the windows became fewer and fewer.

They came to a stop on one of the bridges. The boats tied to the bank of the canal below rocked against each other as the wind picked up a pace. Harry glanced down. The orange lights from the bridge reflected back at him from the dark water like dancing, glowing jellyfish.

"I still feel strange," Malfoy said, his upper arm warm against Harry's as they stood together.

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure that was not an ordinary cake."

"Maybe we should've eaten more," Malfoy said wistfully.

Harry made a consenting sound and rested his chin on the cool metal parapet. He let his eyelids flutter closed.

"Are you angry?" Malfoy asked some time later.

Harry was not sure if he had only blinked for a second or fallen asleep. "Huh?" he asked, lifting his head to look properly at Malfoy. "No. No, we can always go back there and eat more cake tomorrow."

"No. I mean… well. You didn't come here to spend time with _me_."

"I didn't know you'd be here." Harry wondered if it was Malfoy who did not make any sense, or if his own brain was just too slow to follow.

Malfoy shook his head. "But still, I'm sure you would've preferred to do other stuff. Like shagging bald men, for instance."

Harry thought back to the days spent in Amsterdam before he met Malfoy. "I was actually planning to leave right after the exhibition. I hated it here."

"But we already went to the exhibition yesterday. Why did you stay?"

Harry shrugged one shoulder. "Because I don't hate it here anymore. It's fun now. You… you're not as bad to be around as I always thought you'd be."

Malfoy stilled beside him before speaking. "You're not as boring as I always imagined you would be either. Or as dim. Or as conceited. Or -"

"Alright, alright, I get it," Harry stopped him, and Malfoy smirked.

They watched the little waves in the water for a few silent minutes before Harry mustered enough courage for what he wanted to ask. "D'you think maybe we could meet again, some time? After returning home, I mean."

"What, like friends?" Malfoy asked incredulously.

"We're already friends now. Sort of. Aren't we?" Harry bit his lip.

"Yes, _here_. But we're completely different. It won't last long."

Harry wished he had not asked. He did not want to face another rejection. "I suppose."

"We come from two different worlds."

"I know."

"We're like…" Malfoy's mouth stayed open as he looked up and frowned, searching for words. "From opposite banks of the canal," he finally said, gesturing at the canal below. "And there's all this water between us."

"Yucky, green, murky water," Harry agreed.

"Exactly. We're just like… like two straight, parallel lines that can never meet."

Harry glanced sideways at him. "Only we're not so straight."

The right side of Malfoy's lips quirked up.

"And the canal _can_ be crossed." Harry pointed ahead, over the parapet and across the dark water, to another bridge, just like the bridge they were standing on.

They looked at the other bridge with its small, orange lights decorating its arched stone wall. Another shining arch reflected back from the water, creating a full circle like a ring of fire. Their gaze followed the canal until it met the arch of reflected lights right beneath the bridge they were standing on, and then they looked behind them to the top of the bridge, the conjunction of two winding streets. They turned back to each other where their eyes met, bright and clear and promising. Malfoy's long, almost-white hair was flapping in the wind, and his cheeks were pink from the cold, or alcohol, or something else entirely. Harry could not look away.

Malfoy's eyelids lowered over his deep grey eyes and he tilted his head and –

"Oi!" he cried as a fat raindrop fell on his nose.

Harry's insides seemed to disappear for a second and he shook his head, trying to calm his racing pulse. He lifted his face to the cloudy sky, and squinted as cold drops fell on his glasses and slid down to his cheeks. Thunder rumbled in the distance. He took the map out of his pocket to check where they were, but the speeding wind picked it out of his hands, sending them both to run after it, until the rain grew heavier and Harry yelled, "_Accio!_" and the map flew to wrap over his face. Malfoy laughed so hard he sounded like someone with an asthma attack, holding his stomach and half bent over. Harry peeled the map off his face, and joined in to laugh with him.

**XXX**

The hotel door opened to a steep flight of stairs. The sight of them alone was enough to make Harry dizzy. He held the door open for Malfoy and followed him inside, happy to leave the blustery weather behind.

"Apparate?" Malfoy asked with a pleading look in his eyes.

"Better not. Not sober enough, we'll splinch ourselves," Harry said, wobbling on his feet. "Besides, we might be seen."

Malfoy managed to climb three steps before losing his balance and falling back, smashing into Harry. They burst out laughing again. Harry was not sure what was funny, but he could not help himself. His head felt larger, and yet pleasantly lighter, and his vision blurred at the edges, like light through tinted glasses.

They calmed down, and Malfoy tried climbing the stairs again, this time on all fours, bracing himself with his hands. Harry followed and pushed Malfoy from behind, eager to enter their warm, dry room and be out of his soaking clothes. A yelp startled him and he looked up to see Malfoy staring at him over his shoulder. Harry followed Malfoy's gaze slowly to where his hand rested – flat over Malfoy's bum. "Oops," he said and promptly removed it.

"It's alright." Malfoy shrugged. "Just your hands are cold."

They reached the first landing. Malfoy used the banister to heave himself up, and staggered towards the first door. "In," he said.

Harry squinted at the golden number on the door. "That's not our room." He wished it _was_ theirs. His knees were freezing, jeans wet from when he had fallen into a puddle during their run in the rain.

Malfoy glanced wearily up the second flight of stairs. "But this one's so much cloooser," he whined.

"Still, not ours. You don't want to sleep with strangers tonight, do you?"

Malfoy plopped on the third stair and looked up at Harry. "No." He yawned. "I only want to sleep with you," he said. Then he giggled. "Sleep with," he repeated and giggled again.

"You're completely pissed, aren't you?"

Malfoy gaped. "_Me_?" He hiccupped. "I'm completely sober." He pointed a finger at Harry. "_You_ are pissed," he said, jabbing his finger in Harry's belly for good measure.

The ceiling swam around Harry's head. He had to agree, at least with the second statement. He pulled Malfoy up, and they both fell backwards. Harry ended up with his back against the wall and Malfoy pressed against him, his rain-soaked hair in Harry's mouth, and warm puffs of his breath in Harry's ear.

Malfoy chuckled and drew back, placing a cold palm over Harry's chest. His other hand was still clasped in Harry's. "Oops," he said and smiled in a way that made Harry's breath catch.

Harry smiled back and shrugged. "S'alright." He let Malfoy tug him towards the stairs.

They stumbled up another flight of stairs, tripping over each other in their haste to reach their room. When they finally arrived at their door, Malfoy spread his hands over it in a strange hug. "This one is ours?" he half-asked, half-pleaded.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, it is." He fumbled in his pockets for the key and opened the door.

Malfoy slipped past him. "Bed!" he whooped and flung himself on it, spread-eagled with his face buried in the flowery duvet.

Harry dropped his wand on the table, turned on the lamp, and took a moment to observe Malfoy's prone form. It was worrying how quickly this innocent image provoked a detailed mental scene of raw, carnal sex. He thanked God Malfoy was facedown and could not see him. Malfoy would not have needed Legilimency to read Harry's thoughts; the tightening of his trousers would have been evidence enough.

He went to the bathroom to change clothes, brush his teeth and have a quick wank, burying his face in a towel to stifle his gasp as he came. It was unsatisfying; taking care of the physical need, but leaving him feeling empty and annoyed with himself for a reason he could not identify.

Soft snores welcomed him back. Malfoy had fallen asleep with his cheek pressed to the bed, hair obscuring his eyes, and his mouth open. He was drooling, just a little bit, and Harry found himself smiling. He wondered when in the last couple of days the effect Malfoy had on him had changed from gritting his teeth to smiling. Maybe it was the influence of the alcohol and the mysterious cake, or maybe it was just the ending of a perfect day. A day where nothing special happened, no new brooms or gay clubs, just him and Malfoy hanging about in the streets of Amsterdam. And yet… it was perfect. He was almost sad the day was going to end, not knowing what tomorrow would bring. Would Malfoy still be there?

Harry stepped closer and patted Malfoy's calf lightly. It made his stomach roil with guilt, as if he was breaching some invisible line between them without Malfoy's consent, so he slapped Malfoy's leg, causing him to wake up with a start. "Go wash up," he said, looking away, and proceeding towards the open window.

Clad only in his boxers, he shivered and hugged himself against the cold, rubbing his forearms to smooth the small goose pimples that covered his skin. Outside, the trees swayed in the whistling wind and magnificent lightning bolts pierced the dark sky. It was easier to appreciate storms when he was not out in the rain.

The bathroom doorknob clicked. Harry turned to see Malfoy reappearing from the bathroom, taking off his jacket and yawning so wide Harry was afraid he would dislocate his jaw.

"Bed!" Malfoy called again, and jumped on it. "Eurgh!" he cried when he landed on the remote control. The television burst into life and deafening techno music emerged from the speakers, merging with Malfoy's equally loud shrieks. "Ahh! That thing again! Kill it, Potter! Kill it!"

Harry forgot all about the storm. He leapt on the bed, crawled over Malfoy's stomach, picked up the remote, and clicked the button to turn off the television. The room fell silent, but his ears were still ringing from the commotion. He held himself up and moved so he was bracing himself with a hand on each side of Malfoy's face, looking down at him. "All done. It's dead."

"My hero," Malfoy cooed, batting his long, pale eyelashes, and they both erupted in wild snorts of laughter.

The laughter died down into dry chuckles, until all that could be heard in the little room was their heavy breathing and the spatter of rain on the windowsill. Malfoy's breath ghosted over Harry's face, smelling fresh and familiar from Harry's minty toothpaste. Though his clothes were still damp and cold against Harry's exposed abdomen, the warmth of his body underneath was tangible, and yet frustratingly out of reach. The intensity in Malfoy's eyes as they bore into Harry's was mesmerizing. Something hidden in their depths, like an unspoken plea, fascinated Harry and made his heart pound faster.

Malfoy rolled his lips, making them glisten in the soft light of the table lamp. Harry's thoughts crashed together into one blurry mess as his vision focused greedily on that open mouth. He had a burning urge to kiss it, but how could he? Malfoy was engaged, he had a mad theory that he was straight as long as he did not touch a man, and anyway – he was not interested in Harry. Was he?

Harry's breath caught as a featherlike touch ghosted over the ticklish spot just above his waist. First, it was the wispy touch of Malfoy's fingertips, then a tentative brush with the pads of his fingers, and finally his trembling palm, tantalising for just a second before it disappeared. It was a light and fleeting sensation that could mean nothing at all or everything in the world, leaving Harry poised like a lion ready to strike, heart beating madly in his throat. Every nerve in his body was screaming for more, for something – _anything_, hanging on a string, anxious for Malfoy's next move. When the hand returned and slid over his skin, this time sure and persistent, it was all the encouragement Harry needed. He bowed his head, just as Malfoy lifted his, and their mouths met, open and hot and hungry. No hesitation and no boundaries.

Any trace of tiredness in Malfoy seemed to have dissolved completely, swallowed in the intensity of the moment. One hand glided up and down Harry's back, while the other sneaked around his neck and held him tighter, coiling in his hair and urging him closer. Harry obeyed willingly and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Malfoy's lips were thin but soft – softer than Harry had imagined a man's lips could be, and his tongue was eager without being suffocating, slithering in harmony with Harry's.

Burning desire buzzed throughout Harry's body. It had been so long since anybody had touched him this way that the longing made his skin hypersensitive, Malfoy's fingers questing down his back leaving trails like fire slashing through ice.

Somewhere at the back of Harry's mind, a nagging voice wondered whether this was a bad idea, but his body had already made the choice; he would not – _could_ not – stop.

He pulled Malfoy's shirt out of his jeans, pushed it up to his chest, and laid his palm on the taut surface of his stomach, feeling the muscles flex beneath his touch. He swept his fingers over the fine line of golden hairs that descended from Malfoy's navel and disappeared, teasingly, under the waistband of his jeans, loving each inch of it and craving more.

Only their upper bodies touched, and it was not enough. Harry slipped his knee over Malfoy's leg and prodded his legs apart, relishing the roughness of the denim against his bare skin. Harry knew his desire was obvious through the thin cloth of his boxers, but did not care as he realized, with a jolt of excitement, that Malfoy was just as hard, pressing firmly against Harry's thigh

They did not break the kiss. Harry feared that if he let go even for one second, the moment would be over and Malfoy would change his mind. He nearly choked on his gasp when Malfoy tightened his lips around his tongue and sucked it greedily, pulling it in deeper and then releasing it, only to draw it in again before it left his mouth. Harry whimpered, letting his imagination run loose as Malfoy sucked his tongue in and out, wishing it were something else. He had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Malfoy right then.

Harry always peeked when kissing; opening his eyes occasionally as if to make sure the other person was really there. This time, he did not need to peek because he could not close his eyes at all – the sight of Malfoy's flushed face was too exquisite to miss. Malfoy, though, kept his eyes shut the whole time, and it worried Harry. Was Malfoy trying to pretend Harry was somebody else?

"Look at me," he whispered over Malfoy's lips.

Malfoy's eyes flew open, his pupils so wide there was almost no grey left. He gazed into Harry's eyes for an endless moment, and Harry held his breath, unable to move or look away. Then Malfoy cupped the side of his face in his warm palm, thumb brushing gently over Harry's cheek, and something inside Harry shifted and reassembled back together. It was such a tender gesture that Harry had to close his own eyes against the onslaught of unexpected emotions that threatened to overflow him. Then Malfoy kissed him again, first chastely and then more persistently, Harry did not need to look any more.

When Malfoy's lips left his mouth, Harry lashed at his throat – kissing, sucking, and biting – unwilling to let him go. To his great relief, Malfoy did not protest, and even stretched his long neck to expose it further to Harry's eager mouth. Harry sealed his lips around Malfoy's Adam's apple and flattened his tongue along the ragged ridge. _God_, he had been dreaming about doing this the whole day. Malfoy's skin tasted vaguely salty, and he smelled delicious. He had it all – the freshness of rain and mint, and the sensual spicy scent of a man's sweat – a scent that sent Harry back to the communal showers after a Quidditch game. Harry slipped his tongue lower to the dip at the base of Malfoy's throat and to the side, licking his way to Malfoy's tempting earlobe. He drew it into his mouth and tugged, grinning when Malfoy gasped and pulled Harry's head closer. Delighted in finding a particularly sensitive spot, Harry continued lapping and nibbling for long minutes before he gave the earlobe one last nip, and nuzzled his nose in Malfoy's ear, eliciting a breathless giggle from him.

Harry left a trail of small kisses from Malfoy's ear, along the sharp ridge of his jaw line and up his pointy chin, humming in satisfaction as the faint scrape of stubble made his lips tingle, treasuring the new sensation before moving to recapture Malfoy's mouth. He skimmed his hand up Malfoy's abdomen to his chest, over the bundled shirt and then underneath it, proud of himself for the erect nipple he found there, and even more pleased by the way Malfoy arched into his touch. Malfoy raised his hands straight over his head, and without a word, Harry pushed the shirt higher, leaving Malfoy's lips only for the second it took to get his shirt off.

He dragged his hands back over Malfoy's palms, entwining their fingers for a moment, and proceeded down to Malfoy's slim wrists. When Harry grazed the skin of his forearms, Malfoy's lips stilled. _It's where the Dark Mark_ _had been_, Harry realised. Flashes of memories flooded his mind. The Mark glowing in the sky over the house he hid in with his friends, the relief he felt when discovering the Mark on the arm of an unrecognised body, the green of the Mark over the Astronomy Tower reflected in Malfoy's hair as his wand shook in his hand, the shame on his face in the trial…

Their breaths wafted over each other's unmoving mouths, quick and erratic as Harry's fingertips hovered over the faint scar. Everything seemed to stop; even the sound of the storm outside failed to penetrate the air between them, as if filled with their history and unvoiced questions. But what were the last few days if not answers to those unspoken questions? The answer was right there, beneath him, in the racing heartbeat hammering against his own. And history was exactly that – _history_; a past to leave behind. Harry breathed in deeply and released it, and closed the distance between them to kiss Malfoy again – a hard press of lips and mashing noses, dragging his nails over Malfoy's left forearm as he moved on.

He slid his hands to the soft skin at the nooks of Malfoy's elbows, and to his armpits – sinking his fingers in the blond tuft of hair there, and smiling as Malfoy shivered. He slipped his other leg in between Malfoy's, lowering it slowly and spreading Malfoy's legs further apart, rubbing his thigh against the steadily growing bulge in Malfoy's trousers, longing to touch the hot skin there and have it pulsing in his hand. Malfoy bucked up and Harry rolled his hips, and they ground their bodies together, rocking against each other, breaking the kiss every so often to gasp into each other's mouths.

The friction was amazing. For a little while.

"_Ouch_." With only the thin layer of his boxers to protect him, the buttons of Malfoy's jeans were rubbing Harry raw. "Your. Jeans," he panted. He tugged impatiently at the sides of the denim waistband. "Can I? Please?"

Instead of answering, Malfoy simply pushed his hands between their bodies and started unbuttoning his jeans. Harry sat back with his hands still clutching Malfoy's waistband, waiting for his permission. Malfoy met his eyes and lifted his hips in silent reply, and Harry jumped off the bed to pull his jeans all the way down. He pulled, and pulled, and pulled, nearly dragging Malfoy off the bed…

_Shit! _

In his hurry, Harry had forgotten to remove Malfoy's boots first, and now the legs of the jeans were stuck over them. Harry cursed himself. _No, no, it can't be happening, not now_. He risked a glance at Malfoy's face and found him biting his lips, shaking with silent laughter. He would never hear the end of this, he knew.

"Need help?" Malfoy drawled.

Harry raked his hands through his hair, pulling at it to force himself into focus. "No, it's fine. Fine. Just… give me a moment." He took a calming breath, squared his shoulders, and dropped to his knees at Malfoy's feet. He pulled the jeans up Malfoy's calves again until he reached the boots, untied them, and chucked them aside in annoyance. Then he rose, holding Malfoy's feet, and pulled the legs of the jeans hard and fast, eager to be rid of them. They came off easily this time, too easily, and Harry fell backwards and hit the table. He dropped the jeans quickly and turned to grab the lamp before it rolled off the table, hissing as he nearly burnt his hand.

It was a curse, it had to be, Harry decided. There was no way all this bad luck was accidental. Someone else must be at fault, and that culprit would pay. Dearly.

While he waited for the laughter behind him to cease, Harry noticed his jacket on the chair and remembered what was in it – the lube he had bought. He took it out and uncorked it, hoping he was not expecting too much of the situation. As far as he knew, Malfoy might be disappointed with his ineptitude and want to stop. He composed himself and turned to face his fate.

The sight before him made him lose his composure all over again. Malfoy was sitting on the bed, leaning back on his hands, naked, hair mussed, lips red and swollen, and legs slightly parted. He was only semi-hard, but it was still gorgeous. Harry had seen him naked before, but never like this, never had the chance to look at him openly, to let Malfoy see what the sight was doing to him.

Malfoy eyed the tube in his hand, and Harry felt his face warm. "Er. It's just for… er…" He fidgeted with the tube, passing it from hand to hand. "You can have it," he blurted, and before he thought it through, threw it on the bed next to Malfoy.

Malfoy flinched, and a long silence stretched between them. _I'm cursed. Definitely_, Harry affirmed to himself. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to come up with something to break the ice again. Everything had been fine just minutes before; there must be a way to return to it. Knowing there was little left to lose, he decided on the most straightforward gesture, and placed his hands on the waistband of his tented boxers. Malfoy's eyes were drawn to it immediately, and Harry was suddenly aware of the wet spot he had made there.

Only when Malfoy looked up to his face and gave a small nod, did Harry yank his underwear down and step out of them. Malfoy edged closer, his face aligned with Harry's navel. Harry held his breath. He knew he had nothing to be ashamed of, but to have Malfoy watching him closely like that made him nervous. Malfoy lifted a hand and slowly traced his fingers along the shaft, causing Harry to gasp and shudder, the fleeting touch spreading shocks of bubbling electricity throughout his body. He held his breath as Malfoy leaned closer, mouth inches from where it was most needed, but Malfoy did not open his mouth. Instead, he rubbed his cheek against it and nuzzled his nose at the base, inhaling deeply.

"God, that scent…" Malfoy murmured into Harry's pubic hair. He stayed that way for a long minute, eyes shut tight.

Harry bit his lip, withholding a whimper. He was so close – a few inches to the left and Malfoy's hot mouth would be right there. He was not sure if he should grab the back of Malfoy's head, move his hips, or say something. He feared he would burst with tension if Malfoy did not do something soon.

The soft strands of Malfoy's hair tickled, and Harry shivered, the whimper escaping his lips and breaking the silence. Just as he was about to pat Malfoy's shoulder, thinking it would be the safest move, Malfoy drew away from him. Harry let his hand fall to his side.

Malfoy raked a trembling hand through his hair. His head was bowed and Harry could not see his expression.

It was as if a door had shut in Harry's face. He looked down at the blond top of Malfoy's head and thought he knew what was going on inside - _regret_. He was going to be rejected again. He felt exposed, but his legs were too numb to move. He clenched his fists, fighting down the hurt and frustration that threatened to flood out. "It's alright," he said, voice empty, just like he felt. "We…we don't need to -"

But Malfoy shook his head and looked up, eyes wide with anxiety but jaw set in determination. "Shh," he whispered, shaking his head, and shifted back on the bed, beckoning Harry to follow.

Harry frowned for a second, and then he understood – Malfoy wanted it as much as he himself did, but preferred not to think about what they were doing. That was fine. There would be plenty of time for regret in the morning.

He climbed on the bed, edging closer to Malfoy on his hands and knees in the best seductive crawl he could muster, trying to make Malfoy forget his earlier flop and bring the passion back. He licked his lips, slowly and sensually, holding Malfoy's eyes with a consuming gaze.

Blooop.

Both sets of eyes snapped to where Harry's knee had squashed the tube of lube, squeezing out a fat blob of clear gel. Harry gaped at it, frozen. This could _not_ be happening.

Malfoy covered his mouth with his hand, but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the shaking of his chest made it clear that he was laughing.

"I did it on purpose!" Harry blurted, trying desperately to hang on to the last shreds of his dignity.

"Why on Earth would you do that?" Malfoy asked, chuckling.

"For… er…" Harry wracked his brain for an excuse. "So we can use it later. You know." Malfoy's eyebrow quirked up, and Harry realised what he must be thinking. "Just for wanking! An-and stuff. Nothing more! Unless you want more, of course, and then I wouldn't mind. I mean, I'd like to. Not that I think about it or anything, I'm not expecting anything, really, just…" Harry cringed. "I think I'll shut up now." His face was burning. He wanted to cry from embarrassment.

"Goodness, Potter, were you always such a disaster in bed?"

Harry sat back and covered his face with his hands. "I suppose I'm just nervous," he said into his palms. And he knew why – he was thinking too much. He was a man of action. Just like in the war when Hermione had done the thinking, Ron the strategies, and he had executed. That was his expertise – following his instincts and _doing_.

The mattress shifted and Harry lowered his hands to see Malfoy sitting before him, head bowed and shoulders hunched, any trace of amusement gone. "I think it's a sign." Malfoy kept his gaze down as he spoke. "It's a sign telling us we're making a huge mista-"

_No!_ Harry refused let this slip between his fingers. _It's time for action_. He acted on impulse, throwing caution to the wind and diving headfirst. He leaned forward, grabbed the back of Malfoy's head, and kissed him. Malfoy's mouth opened, whether in will or surprise Harry did not know. He kissed him with all he had, crushing their lips together and sliding his tongue wetly against Malfoy's tongue and the hollow beneath it, against his smooth teeth, his palate… memorising every bit of it before it would be taken away from him.

Malfoy's body seemed to liquefy under his touch, sinking to the soft bed and dragging Harry on top of him. Excitement and expectation reeled inside him, feeling as if he had swallowed a Squitch. The contact of their bodies as he pressed against Malfoy's warm, sweat-slicked skin, sent sparks of pleasure through him from his toes to the tips of his ears.

He noted with eagerness every detail that differed from his past sexual experiences. There was the way their unshaved legs felt while touching – like the tingling static electricity felt when holding a hand near a television screen, and the feeling of Malfoy's arms around him, slender but strong as they held him closer.

They rocked their hips together, faster and faster. It amazed him how perfectly they fit; everything falling into place as they moved in flawless sync even while the heat between them grew, making it impossible to concentrate on anything but their most primal needs.

When Malfoy bent his knees and slid his thighs astride Harry's hip, Harry seized the opportunity to shift his hands to Malfoy's waist, then down and behind to cup his buttocks. Ever since the day he had watched Malfoy try on jeans, Harry wondered how his arse would feel under his hands, and now he knew – firm and perky, yet supple enough to squeeze. _Perfect_. He kneaded the soft flesh with his fingers, and Malfoy moaned low in his throat – an encouragement that evaporated the last of Harry's insecurities.

Things were becoming too intense. Refusing to let it be over too soon, Harry stopped the frenzied grinding and sat back to kneel at the V of Malfoy's spread legs, admiring the supine body before him. He skidded his palms down Malfoy's flat chest and abdomen and over his jutting hipbones, all the while eyeing what was in the middle, red and swollen as it lay against his stomach, in perfect contrast with the pale skin and golden curls around it. It was magnificent. So safe and familiar, just like his own, and yet it filled Harry with such awe and anticipation that his hands trembled.

He moved his hands lower, coiling his fingers to scrape his nails over Malfoy's thighs, enthralled by the thin pink trails they painted on the white skin. Malfoy tilted his head back and closed his eyes, bottom lip held tight between his teeth. Harry watched him closely as he flattened his palms again and smoothed them up slowly, higher and higher. Malfoy shut his eyes tighter.

Malfoy's restraint astounded him – he did not even reach out to touch himself, just fisted his hands in the duvet on the sides of his body, and tensed his muscles. A sudden pang of worry crept into Harry's mind – what if Malfoy took ages to come? What if he would embarrass himself in front of Malfoy and come too soon? He berated himself for turning this into a childish competition, but the seed of worry had been planted.

Aiming to raise Malfoy above his constraint, Harry reached between Malfoy's legs and closed his fingers.

A deep guttural groan escaped Malfoy, and Harry looked up at him. Malfoy's eyes were finally open, dark and fathomless, and Harry held his gaze as he jerked his hand up and down in steady strokes, feeling more powerful than he had ever felt when holding a wand.

Lightning illuminated the room, making the planes of Malfoy's milky skin and pale hair shine for a split second like a precious jewel, taking Harry's breath away. By the time thunder roared in answer, he was on top of Malfoy again, kissing him senseless.

Harry nearly bit his tongue – or was it Malfoy's? – when Malfoy slithered his hand lower next to Harry's and mirrored Harry's actions, pulling and twisting. Blood rushed down Harry's body so fast that he felt faint. Malfoy's hand was firm and assertive and it was incredible. It was the exact opposite from the way Ginny used to touch him – limply, as if she was afraid he would break, and Harry was immeasurably grateful for the change.

Soon – too soon – Malfoy tugged Harry's hand away. "Going. To. Come," he said, panting. "Don't want."

It cheered Harry immensely. He wanted Malfoy to come, and not just because he wanted to last longer, but also because he wanted to hear Malfoy scream, to see his walls topple down. But he did as requested, and let go.

Malfoy kissed him and raised his feet to cross his ankles at the small of Harry's back. They ground against each other more slowly, hands leisurely exploring each other's bodies, caressing every patch of skin they could reach, though staying above the waist as if under an unspoken agreement.

The rain outside poured heavier as the storm drew closer, the swash of raindrops as they hit the surface of the canals mixing in harmony with the wet suckling noises of their kisses. The cold wind dried the sweat on Harry's exposed back, and made the hair on his nape prickle, rendering the intense heat between their bodies even more palpable.

The first time Malfoy shifted and raised his hips too high, Harry repositioned them so their groins were alongside each other again, instead of him being behind Malfoy's thighs. The next time it happened, Harry understood it was on purpose.

_Oh_.

It was a thrilling suggestive position, but a bit awkward. Harry needed _more_. He bent forward, and whispered against Malfoy's neck, "Turn around?"

For a nerve-wracking second, Harry thought Malfoy was going to hit him, because he pushed him away so forcefully. But Malfoy only turned hastily, buried his face in the bed, folded his knees beneath him, and lifted his bum.

Dumbstruck, Harry sat back on his heels, staring at the gorgeous display before him. He could have that image etched to the back of his eyelids and never tire of watching it. A sheen of sweat covered Malfoy's white, smooth skin, and Harry laid his hands on his curved cheeks, cupping them lovingly in his palm, unable to believe he was allowed. Malfoy pressed farther into his hands, and Harry smiled. He liked this wanton Malfoy. Liked him a_ lot_. It was a very pleasant surprise; he had expected Malfoy to be cold and reserved, and though he _was_ a bit quiet, his body spoke volumes.

Leaning forward, Harry pressed along between those cheeks. Malfoy moaned loudly and moved, rubbing himself on Harry, and _God_, this shameless wanton Malfoy was more than Harry had ever dreamed he could have.

Malfoy turned his head to look over his shoulder at him. His face was flushed and his lips parted as he said something, but it was too quiet for Harry to hear. Harry slowed his movements, unable to still his hips completely, the need to move stronger than his willpower. Malfoy spoke again, his voice raspy and breathless. "Do it."

Harry stared at him, confused. Was Malfoy asking him to…?

His stomach lurched with excitement when Malfoy stretched his hands back, spreading his cheeks, his long fingers digging into the pliant mounds of flesh, flaunting himself for Harry's hungry eyes. He lifted his hips higher and buried his face back in the duvet. Harry wanted to see the need in Malfoy's eyes, the need for _him_, but the sight before him was just as marvellous – Malfoy, writhing lecherously, exposing himself, for Harry's eyes only.

Harry scooped a handful of lube from the mess he created earlier, and turned his palm over Malfoy's rear, letting the gel slop down.

A spasm went through Malfoy's muscles when the lube touched his skin, and he hissed.

"Sorry! Cold?" Harry asked, cringing. He tried to make amends by rubbing it into Malfoy's body, warming it.

"A bit," Malfoy said, tight-lipped. "But it's gettin-" He gasped as Harry chose that moment to dip his thumbs between the cheeks. "Wa-warmer," he ended, panting.

Harry grinned and continued to tease Malfoy with his fingers. He scooped another handful of lube from the bed, and warmed it between his hands before applying it to Malfoy and himself. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cold air the rain left behind. It smelled like new lives and fresh starts, cleansing and vitalizing. "Ready?"

Malfoy lifted his head from the bed, and nodded, but his Adam Apple bobbed nervously.

Harry could relate; he was nervous too, his insides somersaulting in his stomach. He leaned forward. "I want you to know," he whispered close to Malfoy's ear, "that if you'll need me to stop, just say so, and I'll stop. No matter when, I'll stop. I promise."

Malfoy turned to look at him, and his eyes were calmer, full of unspoken trust and recognition. "I know. I know you will," he said. They shared a small, shy smile, and Harry kissed Malfoy's shoulder tenderly before sitting back.

Aligning himself in place, all he could think was,_ Is this really happening?_ Taking a shuddering breath, he braced himself, and pushed in.

They both groaned loudly as he entered, excruciatingly slowly, inch by inch until the head was swallowed in Malfoy's body. Malfoy's muscles squeezed around him so tightly that it felt almost like Apparition. He fought the compulsion to slam his hips forward, body shaking and mind screaming with the strain of holding still while Malfoy adjusted.

The muscles around him started to loosen and Harry inched deeper, grunting loudly, the tightness almost too much to bear. Malfoy reached back and clutched his hip, nails digging into Harry's skin, stopping him. Harry gritted his teeth, but remained silent, keeping his protest to himself. He wanted to move, to bury himself in that amazing, tight heat, but he had promised to stop when Malfoy needed him to, and he would not break that promise. Even if it meant his body would fall apart from the pressure.

After what felt like an eternity, Malfoy wriggled his hips and pressed back, impaling himself on Harry at the most agonising pace. Surrendering all control, Harry forced himself to relax and submerge in the wonderful new sensations he was experiencing, shutting his eyes and holding himself still as Malfoy took him in. He mewled as Malfoy's body widened to accommodate him, engrossed in the warm, velvety friction that pulled at his skin more and more with each passing second as he was accepted deeper and deeper.

When Malfoy stopped moving, Harry opened his eyes again. Malfoy's head was bowed, his long, blond hair hiding his face like curtains on both sides. "Are you OK?" Harry asked, and held his breath in apprehension.

Malfoy did not answer, and Harry felt his stomach drop. "M-Malfoy?" he asked again, and laid his hand on Malfoy's back, rubbing the damp skin in soothing circles. "Please say something. Are you hurt? Do you want me to pull out?" _Please, please, don't want me to pull out._

"No. Don't move," Malfoy said in a strangled voice.

_Oh_, _thank God._ Harry exhaled the breath he was holding, and continued to rub Malfoy's back, wishing there was more he could do for him.

When Malfoy regained his composure, he raised his head, turned to look at Harry, and gave a small nod. Harry did not wait for further instructions. He moved his hips tentatively, drawing half-way out before pushing back in.

It was tight. Unbelievably tight. Harry's nerve endings were screaming so loudly he imagined he could hear it, brain flooded with wave after wave of exploding pleasure. He moaned, the sound clawing out of his guts, vibrating in his chest before rising up his throat and flowing from his parted lips.

Trying to hold tight with hands slippery with lubrication, Harry used the jutting ridge of Malfoy's hipbones to guide him back and forth and set a steady pace, watching, entranced, as he slid in and out of Malfoy's body, in and out of that squeezing, all-consuming heat, moving slowly in long, thorough strokes.

When Malfoy started answering Harry's moans with moans of his own, and pushing his hips back to meet Harry thrust for thrust, Harry felt like the luckiest man in the world. He leaned forward, moulding his body with Malfoy's, and circled his arms around Malfoy's waist, kissing the protruding shoulder blade each time he planted himself inside him.

It was hard to balance on his knees and he did not want to burden Malfoy with his weight, so Harry straightened up again. The sudden gush of cold air on his torso, now bereft of Malfoy's skin, made him shiver. Malfoy must have felt the same, because he followed Harry and rose on his knees, pressing his upper back against Harry's chest as he worked his hips slowly backwards to take in more of Harry, dragging out a heavy, exhaled "aaaah" from both of them.

Harry laid a open-mouthed kiss on his shoulder, and Malfoy turned his head farther around to nuzzle his nose to Harry's cheek, before lifting his hand to grab a fistful of Harry's hair, and pulling him closer for a kiss.

It was sloppy, less like a kiss and more like gasping into each other's mouths and the occasional clumsy sweep of tongues, but it was the best kiss Harry had ever shared with anyone. He kept rolling his hips in long methodical thrusts, cupping Malfoy's face with one hand, and brushing the other up and down the front of Malfoy's body. He could not have enough of touching him, of breathing the sweet scent of his hair and tasting the salt on his skin, of feeling him, inside and out, and making him his own.

Malfoy slid his free hand over Harry's arm, and entwined their fingers, pulling their linked hands to rest over his stomach. There was something vulnerable and honest in the gesture that made Harry's heart ache, and he tightened his arms around Malfoy, feeling suddenly protective, drawing Malfoy's back even closer against his chest until there was no more room left between them, skin touching skin from shoulders to knees.

It was impossible to manoeuvre, so Harry swayed his hips in small circles while sheathed all the way inside Malfoy. The burning friction that threatened to overwhelm him slowed down, transcending into something different, even more intimate, changing it all from just sex to something more meaningful, scary yet exciting, which bubbled elusively underneath the surface.

Malfoy turned his face and captured Harry's index and middle finger in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around them. All of a sudden, the heat between them soared and the subtle rolling of hips was no longer enough. As if sensing Harry's need, Malfoy released Harry's fingers, placed a small lip-tingling kiss on his mouth, and bent forward to hoist himself back on his hands and knees.

Harry decided that Malfoy was the perfect man.

Surrounded by the stormy sounds of pouring rain outside, and the slapping of skin on skin, Harry plunged harder and faster, unable to control himself any longer, surrendering to the feeling.

The force of their movements made Malfoy's hands give way, and he collapsed on the bed, causing Harry to slip out of him.

For a paralysing moment, Harry did not understand what had happened, mind reeling with the need to plunge into that tight, marvellous heat again. When he managed to focus, he saw Malfoy reach for a pillow, shoving it under his belly, and lying on top of it, bum high and legs spread wide eagerly. Harry licked his lips, unable to believe how fortunate he was to have that man in his bed.

He positioned himself and dove back in; first slow, then faster, and faster, encouraged by Malfoy's mumbled string of, "Yes, yes, yes, yes" as he slid effortlessly in and out, generating luscious, wet, slippery noises.

This was completely different from what he had had with Ginny. There were no conditions, no unnecessary blather, no 'Do you love me?' or silly girly giggles in inappropriate moments. It was hard, demanding, ravenous. Pure and real. No need to pretend or think of something else, or of _someone_ else. Malfoy was exactly what he wanted, his body perfect beneath his, the tightness was maddening, and the sounds Malfoy was making were nearly enough to drive Harry over the edge.

Harry knew he was close to the point of no return. There was no way left to delay it, and really, he did not _want_ to delay it any longer. He wanted to come, to let go, to give himself away.

Reciting, _Please come, please, please come_, in his head, Harry angled himself the best he could to make Malfoy moan the loudest, and tried to shove his hand under Malfoy's belly, seeking to speed things up. But it was unnecessary. Malfoy was rutting so vigorously against the pillow that there was no room for Harry's hand there, and by the loud, quick, shallow breaths he was emitting, he was already close.

The thrusting became irregular, hard and fast, hard enough to bang the bed into the wall. Harry knew the people in the next room could hear it and tell what they were doing, but he did not care, not even a bit. He was gay, Malfoy was gay, they had glorious gay sex, and if anyone had a problem with it, then… well, they could scream their throats sore and explode, and still he would not give a damn.

Though Harry knew it was coming, it caught him by surprise – a good, relieving surprise – when Malfoy arched his back and snapped his head up, and cried out in a long, broken howl that made his voice sound as if someone was turning the volume on and off. It was animalistic and primal and so _real_; Harry could hear the liberating release in it, coming out from the bottom of Malfoy's soul, tearing down the last of his walls.

It made Malfoy's muscles clamp tight around Harry, _unbearably_ tight, and for that he was not ready at all. It only took a few more hurried pumps of his hips for him to follow suit. His body was convulsing and jolting in wave after wave of discharged energy, and he felt as if he was being torn into Malfoy; as if all his power, all his being, was pooling out of him to fill Malfoy, and he was giving it gladly, unleashing all he had until there was no more left to offer.

Having no more strength to hold himself, Harry collapsed on top of Malfoy, spent and exhausted, but also content and whole in a way he had never been before. He felt he needed to say something, to release some of the burning emotions in his chest. He almost said 'Thank you', but managed to stop himself just in time.

He smiled, remembering Malfoy's words from the first day about how both of them being gay was bad luck. "You're the best bad luck I've ever had," he said , rested his forehead on the back of Malfoy's shoulder, and kissed the freckles there, just because he could.

_**To Be Continued…**_

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Author's note: Please let me know what you think. Concrit and feedback are highly appreciated, especially now, since this is my first sex scene. Thanks for reading!

Links to pictures of some of the places Harry and Draco visit can be found on my profile page.


	7. New Dawn

**Summary**: Harry is trying to find himself, and Draco is trying to hide away. An unexpected meeting in Amsterdam teaches them that the past is nothing but water under the bridge, and that sometimes, what you need most is just a bit of bad luck.

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

**Rating**: R

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and the people who bought it. I'm not one of them.

**Betas**: anthimaeria, bewarethesmirk, gurliemoviegeek, and lilyfirebolt - the most wonderful betas anyone can ever ask for! Thank you, ladies! I couldn't have done this without you. And another special thanks goes to hpbritglish.

**Spoilers**: This fic was written after Half-Blood Prince and before Deathly Hallows. So no spoilers.

**Author's Note**: Sorry it took so long! This chapter was finished a month ago, but Deathly Hallows' release and all the HP cons caused a delay. And speaking of DH – I hope you enjoyed it. And if you didn't – thank God for fanfiction, right?

So here's the final chapter. I hope it'll be worth your wait!

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**New Dawn**

Harry stretched languidly, snug in the warm sheets that slid against his naked skin, feeling more rested and peaceful than he had in a longer time than he could remember. He could not recall his dreams, but the absence of disturbing mental images and muscle stress told him he had not suffered any nightmares.

Something was weighing on his chest, and in the fogginess of early morning, Harry thought it was Crookshanks sleeping on him again. Then he remembered that he was not in Hogwarts any more, and lazily cracked one eye open to glance down at it.

It was a hand. And it was not his own.

Harry's other eye flew open, and he turned his head slowly to stare at the sleeping figure beside him, memories of the previous night flooding his mind. Shadows obscured Malfoy's face, but the light of dawn from the window behind him lit the hair around his face with soft glow, like a halo.

Malfoy sleeping was nothing new; Harry had seen him asleep during the last few days, but he seemed different this time. On the first night they had been forced to spend together, Malfoy was an annoyance, albeit a rather attractive one in all his glorious nakedness. On the second night, after the Quidditch game and the fiasco with the Frenchman, Harry had thought of him as a comrade and a confidant. And now, after last night, Malfoy had become… a lover? Was that what they were?

An overwhelming wave of emotion surged through Harry as he thought of the amazing night they had shared together. He grinned at the ceiling. There was no doubt in his mind – he was gay. Very gay. As gay as it gets, even. And he did not mind, not at all. In fact, he felt the urge to jump on a broom, fly to the rooftops, and shout it at the top of his lungs. He was not ashamed anymore – he had the most incredible sex of his life, and it was only the beginning. He could finally picture himself spending the rest of his life happily with a man. He studied Malfoy's face pensively and gently brushed the white-blond strands from where they fell on Malfoy's cheek. _Even with this man_, he thought, heart skipping and head spinning at the realisation.

A sweet smile adorned Malfoy's pink lips when Harry's fingers touched his cheek, and his eyes fluttered open, silvery eyelashes moving like fairy wings. Then the smile vanished and Malfoy sat up, staring horror-struck at Harry.

"Oh God," he said in a high-pitched voice, and pulled the duvet up to his chin. "Oh God, oh God, oh God. Tell me last night was a hallucination."

Harry's heart sank, seemingly along with the ground beneath him. This could not be happening, not now when everything had finally started to brighten up. The hollow feeling that grew inside him threatened to swallow everything into the void, like an inner Dementor that fed on Malfoy's words. "No, don't do this, _please_," he said, pleading, willing to shatter any dignity he had left, anything but accept Malfoy's regrets. He shivered. The wind was cold over his exposed chest where the duvet was snatched away, like thousands of stinging pins. But his body was numb and he could not bring himself to move

"I can't believe it happened. I think I'm going to be sick." Malfoy was gulping and breathing heavily, and Harry was worried he really _was_ going to throw up. He was about to go fetch Malfoy a glass of water, or a bucket, when Malfoy spoke again. "How could you make me do it?"

Indignation bobbled in Harry and surfaced over his other emotions of hurt and loss. He sat up too, and tugged at the duvet, wrenching it from Malfoy's grip and covering himself. "_Make_ you? You wanted it! I didn't force you into anything!"

"Yes, you did!" Malfoy shouted and tugged at the duvet, but Harry held on to it with all his strength.

"No, I didn't! You wanted it, Malfoy."

"I never wanted it! I could _never_ want it!"

"You practically spread your arsecheeks and _begged_ to be fucked!"

The second the words left his mouth, Harry wished he could take them back. But it was too late. Malfoy's expression reminded him of the wavering reflections on the surface of the canals. The little colour Malfoy still had drained off his face, his lips trembled, and an alarming sheen covered his eyes. There was distinct wetness gathering on his lower eyelashes.

Harry wanted desperately to do something – _anything_ – to make things better, but there was nothing he could do except pray he would wake up again and discover the last minutes were a bad dream. He looked away, pretending not to notice Malfoy's tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said that, but you can't make it my fault. You wanted it as much as I did." From the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy wipe his face on the back of his hand, and a wave of self-hatred threatened to drown him. He should have never succumbed to his urges. He should have known better; should have been more responsible and stopped things from going too far.

"I was drunk. I can't be held responsible," Malfoy said, and Harry was not sure which one of them he was trying to convince.

It was hard not to lose his patience again. Harry raked his hand through his hair and breathed deeply through his nose. "We were both drunk," he said as evenly as he could. "But we were both also sober enough to know what we were doing."

Malfoy shook his head. "No. No, no, no, you don't understand. I didn't want this, I couldn't have, I'm not queer. I'm _not_. I can't be." It was like a chant – a hopeless prayer. He bent his legs and hugged his knees, burying his face in them.

Wishing to soothe him, Harry raised his hand to Malfoy's back. But he was too afraid to touch. His hand just hovered there, stroking empty air, inches above his skin; above where the freckles were, the freckles he had kissed last night. He could still remember the taste of Malfoy's warm, salty skin on his lips, and it made his heart ache knowing he would never taste it again.

After a long awkward moment, Harry lowered his hand and released the duvet, silently offering it to Malfoy.

Malfoy did not move. He was still sitting with his cheek on his knees, facing away. His back was bare and Harry could not stop staring at the smooth planes of pale skin. The bow of Malfoy's back made his spine protrude, and Harry could count the vertebrae almost all the way down to just a bit above where the dark line between his buttocks started and disappeared beneath his body. _I was there,_ Harry thought. _I was in there_. Images of that soft flesh bouncing as he hit it from behind poured into his mind, waking parts of his anatomy that he preferred to ignore. He wondered if maybe he would have had been better off castrated.

"Where's my wand?" Malfoy asked, still facing away.

Sudden cold seized Harry. _No, please don't leave_. He wanted to say it, not ready for Malfoy to disappear out of his life, but he knew it was better left unsaid. "It's probably somewhere in your clothes." Where he chucked them yesterday while undressing Malfoy.

"_Accio_ it."

Reluctantly, Harry groped under his pillow for his own wand. But it was not there. How could he have slept without it? He climbed off the bed and retrieved both their wands. He was very self-conscious of being naked and exposed in front of Malfoy, even though it made no sense after everything they had done only hours before. He returned to the bed, covered himself, and handed Malfoy the wand – hesitating for a second before letting go.

"Close your eyes," Malfoy asked.

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

Harry closed his eyes. He felt the bed shifting, but the mattress still weighed down, meaning Malfoy was still there. Then he smelled… soap? It was some kind of a cleaning spell, possibly _Tergeo_ if he recognised the scent correctly.

"You can open them now."

Harry opened his eyes. Malfoy was sitting with his back against the headboard, staring resolutely ahead and ignoring him completely. Harry tried to speculate what he spelled clean. First he thought Malfoy might have had used it to clean his teeth, but it was unlikely. Harry, like every wizard kid, tried it once, and it tasted vile. Malfoy surely knew not to use it. He could have had used it to clean the bed, but there was no reason for it – all the mess they created at night was on top of the thick duvet and on the underside of the pillow Harry slept on - it could not have bothered Malfoy.

Harry glanced at Malfoy again and noted his pink-flushed cheeks. Then Malfoy's fantasy sprang to his mind and he remembered how Malfoy's mystery man cleaned him afterwards with a napkin, and it dawned on him. He scolded himself for not doing something similar. It was hard to realise that he was not the perfect lover he opted to be.

"You can use the toilet," Harry blurted before his brain had the chance to block the words. He cringed and smacked his hand on his mouth.

Malfoy's ears gained the colour of his cheeks. "I'm fine," he said, sounding not fine at all.

"Sorry. I only meant… you know. If you need something. Er. If there's anything I can do…" _Probably shut the hell up__already_, Harry mentally answered himself.

"I said I'm _fine_," Malfoy repeated, glaring at the wall.

Silence stretched between them again, heavy and stifling, and Harry squirmed under its weight. He heaved a loud sigh, trying to catch Malfoy's attention, but it did not work, so he cleared his throat, and spoke. "Last night was great," he said, wondering why on Earth he could not keep his mouth shut.

Malfoy's head snapped so fast, it was a miracle he did not sprain his neck. He gaped at Harry.

"W-wasn't it?" Harry asked timidly, already knowing he would not like the answer.

"It was the Worst. Night. Of my life," Malfoy said, lips moving fastidiously around each word.

"Liar," Harry muttered, irritated. Malfoy's nostrils flared, and the tiny movement renewed Harry's confidence, goading him to continue. "For someone who usually can't get it up during sex, you really shouldn't complain. After all, you were _very_ hard last night. _And_ you came."

"I DID NOT!

This was too easy. Harry leered. "There's a pillow here that can prove otherwise. Shall we take a look?" he said calmly and reached for the pillow he was sitting on.

"No, don't!" Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm and pulled it away. Then he seemed to realise where his hand was and dropped it quickly, as if burnt. Harry smirked and Malfoy's shoulders slumped in visible defeat. He closed his eyes. "Fine, Potter, you win again. I came. Are you happy now?" He kept his eyes closed as he spoke.

_No_, Harry thought solemnly. The admission blew all the wind out of him. He was happy that Malfoy enjoyed the sex, but he wished Malfoy had been happy about it too. "I don't understand why you're making such a drama out of this."

Malfoy glowered at him. "You made me gay, that's why!"

This was the most ridiculous conversation Harry had ever had. If he were not feeling so wretched, he would have laughed. "Listen, Malfoy. What we've done doesn't make you any gayer than you already were," he said, tired of playing games. And just to make it clearer, he added, "Which was already very, very gay."

Malfoy huffed and crossed his arms. "You don't understand anything."

"Oh, but I understand perfectly. You're trying to live a lie. And I understand it, because I've been doing the same thing. But trust me, it doesn't work. You'll just be miserable."

"It _could've_ worked!" Malfoy spat, glaring at him. "It could've been easy, but now it's going to be impossible, isn't it?" There was a hint of panic in his voice as it began to shake. "How am I supposed to do this now, huh? How am I supposed to go on living my life, sleep next to my wife every night, have sex with her, raise a child, act as if nothing's wrong? How am I supposed to live that life now that I… now that I know what I'm missing?"

Malfoy's voice broke on the last word, and Harry's throat tightened in sympathy. He thought there might have actually been a compliment hidden somewhere in Malfoy's words, but the pain he heard in them made it trivial. He wanted to touch Malfoy, just hold him, to comfort him somehow and smooth the pain away. But his hands stayed where they were, in his lap, over the covers. So much for Gryffindor bravery…

"It doesn't have to be that way," Harry said. He was no better conveying comfort with words than he was with touch, but it was safer to try. "Nobody's forcing you to marry her and live that life."

"I'm a Malfoy, I have duties to fulfil, a status to live up to. There are expectations of me; I can't just do whatever I want."

"You're telling _me_ about expectation? I'm going to disappoint everyone – the entire wizarding world, to lose friends, to fail all the people who believed I was… that I was… _worthy_." Harry had a sudden vivid mental image of the Dursleys looking down at him with their usual disdain and a 'we knew you were up to no good' expression, and he felt like a little boy again. "I will be back to being a freak."

The memory of the frenzy the public had gone into when he and Ginny divorced, and the amount of angry mail and Howlers he had received from those who oppose such practices was still fresh in Harry's mind. He could not imagine what would happen when _this_ comes out. His lips twisted into a dark smile. _I'm going to need a fucking owlery on my roof for all the hate mail I'm going to get_.

"So you agree it's a stupid thing to do," Malfoy said.

"No. I agree that it's going to be tough. But it's not a stupid thing to do, it's the _only_ thing to do. It's who I am, I can't hide it anymore." Harry caught Malfoy's gaze. "We can't run from ourselves; we'll always lose. You should do the same. You can come out, and -"

"And what?" Malfoy snapped. "Be a laughing stock? Make even my mother hate me? Live alone till I die? No, thank you"

"Who said you need to be alone? You can live with a man."

The expression on Malfoy's face as he shook his head, the pursed lips and half-closed eyes, was of pity. "Potter, Potter." He sighed theatrically. "It's time you woke up to the real world. Maybe the depraved Muggles have plenty of queers, but it's rare amongst our kind. There aren't many gay wizards around."

"You don't need _many_; just one."

"And where am I going to find him?"

_Hello, remember me? I'm sitting right here, both a wizard and gay_. It was what Harry wanted to yell, but was too proud to do so. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder and dragged his finger over the sheet between them, drawing imaginary lines and circles on the wrinkled fabric.

"See?" Malfoy said smugly. "You don't have an answer. Welcome to the real world." His voice dripped with malice and his eyes narrowed, leaving only a vicious glint visible through the slits. In a second, he transformed back into the boy Harry hated so much in school.

Irritation started simmering inside Harry. He inhaled deeply through his nose, held the air in for as long as he could, and exhaled loudly through his mouth. Feeling a bit more composed, he turned to look Malfoy straight in the eye. "I do have an answer. Though I thought it was obvious enough to not warrant a spoken acknowledgement." Malfoy frowned at him, clearly not following. "_Me_, Malfoy. _I'm_ gay."

Malfoy opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. He sat, head tilted and jaw hanging, and gawked silently at Harry, making him fidget. "I don't understand," he finally said. Right before Harry lost it completely and started shouting, he added, "I know you're gay, but how does it help _me_? What's it have to do with me being alone?"

It was good that the head of the bed was near the wall – useful as a backrest, and just hard enough for Harry to bang his head against it. He was wondering if Malfoy was being difficult on purpose. "Do I need to spell it out for you? I'm gay, you're gay. Connect the fucking dots."

Malfoy tilted his head to the other side, reminding Harry of a puppy. His eyebrows rose slowly. "Are you suggesting we meet for sex?"

"No. We can talk, too. And maybe… do stuff together." Harry rubbed the back of neck, trying to appear nonchalant while he avoided Malfoy's searching gaze. "Like friends."

"Friends," Malfoy echoed, as if testing the word on his tongue.

"Who also have sex," Harry emphasised. It was important.

Malfoy scratched his chin while thinking it over. "Friends. Who have sex," he repeated slowly.

Looking down, outlining the pattern of a flower on the duvet and still avoided Malfoy's eyes, Harry added quietly, "Exclusively."

The silence that followed made it seem as if time froze. Harry glanced up warily, and bit his lip when he found Malfoy gawking at him.

"Friends. Who have sex. Exclusively," Malfoy said, forming each word painstakingly slowly, gauging it heavily. Harry held his breath as Malfoy fell silent again. Then Malfoy's face split in a huge, toothy grin. "Mother's going to _die_."

Harry laughed. It was as if an enormous load had been lifted off his chest and allowed him to breathe again. "My friends won't be pleased either, but look at the bright side – they're going to be in such a snit that it's you and me, that it might distract them from the fact we're gay."

The expression on Malfoy's face was of pure awe. "It's so crazy, it just might work!" He dragged his eyes down Harry's body, and up again, making Harry's cock stir optimistically. "I swear there's some Slytherin in you."

"Maybe there is. Though… I wouldn't have minded if it was the other way around. You know. If _I_ was in some Slytherin." He nudged Malfoy with his elbow and winked suggestively.

Malfoy snorted and rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you used that line! It's _so_ corny! Every boy in Hogwarts used it at least once."

_Damn_. "Oh. Really? I didn't know." He thought he was being original. "Ginny was a Gryffindor; I never had a reason to use it."

Malfoy shuddered dramatically. "Don't remind me – the Weasley bint. Now that I think of who you shagged before, I'm not so sure I want you shagging me too."

"Too late for that now," Harry said, leering. "But if you don't want to, I won't force you," he added, happy it came out sounding indifferent and not as he felt. He made to climb off the bed, moving much slower than necessary.

"No, wait, I didn't say I didn't want to," Malfoy said, words chasing each other in complete contrast with his usual drawl.

Harry paused and turned back. "What _are_ you saying, then?"

"I say… I need to think about it."

It was the wrong answer. Harry leaned closer until his breath ruffled Malfoy's hair, his lips inches from Malfoy's ear. "Think fast," he whispered.

Malfoy shivered.

Encouraged by the reaction, Harry decided to fight harder and bring out the big guns. He shifted his hips, spread his legs a little and let the duvet slip down his thighs, revealing himself. He knew Malfoy's eyes were on him, because he could feel the warmth radiating from Malfoy's cheek, and hear him gulp. Harry congratulated himself on a job well done. "Well?" he goaded, bottom lip grazing Malfoy's earlobe, remembering how sensitive Malfoy's ears were.

"I… I say… er..."

It was refreshing having Malfoy in a loss for words, but the risk Malfoy would decline the offer was nerve-wracking. More coercion was in order. "We're perfect for each other. Think about it – you have a cowboy hat, and I… I have a dining table with a white tablecloth that I would _love_ to bend you over."

He knew Malfoy could see how the prospect of having him bent over a table was affecting Harry's body, but it did not worry him – the tenting in the bedclothes covering Malfoy's nether region told him it was mutual.

"T-table?" Malfoy repeated, voice husky and breaths quicker. He licked his lips.

"Though I'd rather keep your mother out of it, if it's all the same to you."

Malfoy laughed, a breathless and a slightly hysterical tinkly kind of laugh. Then he raked a shaking hand through his hair. "This is mad. People will go ballistic. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy – there will be outrage! It will be all over the papers."

Harry leaned back on the wall, his face still turned towards Malfoy, but giving him more space. "Front page, special edition, undoubtedly. So what? There will be a huge uproar, and then it will blow off, like it always does." _In a year or two_, he added to himself.

"And what if…" Malfoy turned his head away as he spoke. "There aren't that many queer wizards, but I'm sure there's more than just the two of us. What if after everyone finds out that you're gay, you'll start getting bett... I mean, _other_ offers?"

"I don't want someone who only wants me because I'm Harry Potter."

Malfoy's hands fidgeted in his lap, and his lips moved soundlessly for a while, as if he was reluctant to say what he wanted to say. Finally, he sighed and spoke quietly. "They'll have more reasons than that."

It must have been a compliment, though Harry wished Malfoy had been more specific. He could use the ego boost.

Malfoy turned to him again, with an accusatory look in his eyes. "Other men will want you, you'll leave, and I'll be left alone with everyone knowing that I'm a... a you-know-what."

"I will _never_ do that!" Harry said automatically.

"So what are you saying, that we'll be together forever and ever? _Us_?"

"Why not? We've been getting along great in the last… er… three days." It suddenly seemed like such a short time. It felt like longer before he said it aloud.

"Three days is much shorter than forever and ever!"

"I can't promise you forever."

"I wasn't asking you to! I'm not a _girl_," Malfoy said pointedly. "I just meant… it's a huge risk."

"Not really. What are you risking, marrying a woman you don't like and being miserable?" Harry said. "Forever and ever?" he added.

"And not having an heir. I'm too rich to not have one, and I can't have it without a woman."

It was the worst reason to have children Harry had ever heard. "Hermione suggested once that I adopt a war orphan. I like that idea. Maybe we could do it together one day when we're older. We can name him Potter-Malfoy."

"Malfoy-Potter," Malfoy said. He smirked. "It's by alphabetical order."

Harry laughed.

"This is utterly mad," Malfoy said. His eyes met Harry's, and Harry's heart leapt. There was a definite yes in those eager grey eyes.

"So… what's your answer?" Harry wanted to hear it. A simple yes or no. If it were possible, he would have had preferred to have it in writing, too, but thought it would probably be too much to ask.

"I'm not shaving my head for you," was what Malfoy said instead.

"Er… OK…"

"I mean it, Potter. So you can forget it."

Harry frowned. "OK."

"And if you ever – _ever_ – come anywhere near me with a razor or scissors, I'll cut your dick off with it. So don't say I didn't warn you."

Maybe he was making a huge mistake. Malfoy was obviously much crazier than Harry knew. "Then I won't go near you with a razor," he said, wincing at the grisly thought. "Er. _Why_ would I want to go near you with a razor?"

Malfoy bowed his head and pointed his hand at his hair, fingers held like a flamenco dancer. He looked campier than Harry had ever seen him. "To make me bald, of course! Like you said you liked."

Harry burst out laughing.

"Your perversions aren't funny, Potter!"

It was time to come clean. "I don't like bald men," Harry confessed.

"But you said –"

"I lied. I didn't want you to know that I actually like… well… _blonds_."

Malfoy blinked a couple of times. Then his eyes widened, together with his grin. "Hey, _I'm_ blond," he said as if suddenly remembering.

"I noticed."

"_Natural_ blond," Malfoy clarified unnecessarily.

"I noticed that, too."

They grinned at each other.

The early morning light became slowly brighter, the storm long gone, leaving the air fresh and crisp. The rising birds filled the calmness of the early hour with cheerful twitters and chirrups.

"Can I ask you something?" Harry asked.

"What?"

"May I kiss you?"

The wisp of breath on his face was warm as Malfoy emitted something between a chortle and a gasp. His cheeked flushed pink and he averted his eyes, though his head was still turned towards Harry. "That's such a ludicrous question," he said. His voice was low, almost shy.

Harry leaned sideways, a little closer. "Well, I wouldn't want you to say afterwards that I made you do it," he whispered. He trailed the tip of his tongue across his lips, slowly, moistening them. It caught Malfoy's attention, and he followed Harry's tongue with a keen look, mimicking the movement. "So… may I?"

Malfoy closed his eyes and leaned closer, sliding his back across the wall until their noses touched.

Their hot breaths ghosted over each other's lips, no longer smelling like minty toothpaste, but Harry did not mind. The cold tip of Malfoy's nose as he brushed it slowly against Harry's and the gentle drag of Malfoy's lips over the corner of his mouth sent shivers of anticipation down Harry's belly, along his skin, and to his fingertips, making him tingle all over. But despite the protest of his body, he did not move – letting Malfoy initiate the kiss.

It happened excruciatingly slowly. Harry had to fist his hands and recruit all his willpower in order to hold himself from grabbing the back of Malfoy's head and pull him into a proper kiss. Malfoy's breaths came out in shallow shudders as he angled his head and slid his nose across Harry's cheek. It reminded Harry of the way Malfoy rubbed his cheek against his cock the previous night, and although it felt like a tease, he knew it was not. He could sense Malfoy's nervousness, the tension radiating off him in waves, and thought he could even hear the loud drumming of his heart. It was a big step for Malfoy, something he had to make on his own, and though Harry wanted to speed things up, he wanted to let Malfoy make the choice.

When Malfoy's lips touched Harry's, ever so lightly, they were incredibly soft and moist, and Harry's breath caught at the back of his throat. The significance of this kiss was brimming in the air between them. After everything they had done last night a kiss was a minor detail, and yet, something about that light contact of lips made Harry's chest tight; made him want to put his arms around Malfoy and just _hold_ him.

The press of lips became more persistent, and after what felt like forever, the wet tip of Malfoy's tongue slipped out to trace Harry's lips and prod them apart. Harry welcomed it gladly, sighing around it and meeting it with his own tongue, sliding them together languorously.

Malfoy leaned towards him and farther from the wall, laying his hand over Harry's chest, palm sweaty and warm. Harry placed his own hand over Malfoy's, knowing it was just as clammy and knowing that Malfoy could feel his heart beating widely against his rib cage, and he let him, wanting Malfoy to know that it was a big step for him too, that it was significant.

The kiss was tender and unhurried, almost innocent, and their touches were light – hands remaining above the waistline even though Harry was painfully aware of the naked flesh just below the covers.

They remained that way for a long time, just kissing and caressing. Harry could not remember ever experiencing such intimacy. He lost himself in the comfort of Malfoy's closeness, in the contentment of the sweep of lips and tongues against his mouth, and the stroke of fingers over his skin and in his hair. A whole new world of experiences had opened up before him, and he could not wait to start on this wonderful new path ahead of him. He let go of Malfoy's lips, and tilted his head back, just enough to be able to see Malfoy properly, unable to contain his smile, happy in knowing they would be travelling along that new path together, hand in hand.

They smiled silently at each other. "If I tell you something, do you promise not to laugh at me?" Harry asked.

Malfoy snorted. "Of course I don't."

"I liked waking up next to you," Harry told him anyway. The widening in Malfoy's eyes made him wonder if he said too much too soon, so he quickly added, "Before you woke up too and flew off the handle, I mean."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed again, to even more than they were before. "At least unlike some other people in this room, I don't wake up homicidal," Malfoy drawled.

Guilt twisted Harry's insides at the reminder, and he felt his smile fade away, as if gravity suddenly enforced its hold on the corners of his lips. He opened his mouth to apologise.

"Instead of homicidal, I wake up homo," Malfoy interjected before Harry had the chance to speak. His voice was light again, and his dazzling smile sufficiently disarmed any discomfort his previous words caused.

_Thank you_, Harry thought, and kissed the tip of Malfoy's nose. It was cold, as always, but it was the only thing about Malfoy that still was, and for that Harry was grateful. "You went to sleep pretty homo too," he said, trying to keep up with the blithe conversation.

Malfoy ignored his comment. "You know… I don't remember falling asleep. I think I blacked out or something."

"Yeah, something like that. You were sleeping like a drunken troll in seconds. I had to drag and manhandle you under the covers."

Malfoy's eyebrow quirked up. "Manhandle me, huh? I wager you liked manhandling my gorgeous, naked body."

"I like your gorgeous naked body very much."

Malfoy's lips formed a small O, and Harry wondered if maybe Malfoy was not as self-assured as he tried to appear. But the surprised expression was short-lived, and a moment later Malfoy rearranged his features back into the usual haughty smugness. "So you admit that I'm gorgeous. I suppose your eyesight is better than I realised."

It was a strange way of saying thank you, but Harry was getting used to Malfoy's diversion techniques. "You're welcome," he said.

Harry swept his hand down along Malfoy's arm, circled his fingers around Malfoy's wrist, and then slid his hand up again over the smooth skin, up and down in slow, firm movements. "Are you tired?" he whispered, making his voice as suggestive as his hand.

Malfoy's eyelids fluttered and he shivered at the touch. "No," he half-gasped, half-said.

Happy with the encouragement, Harry leaned closer, hand leaving Malfoy's arm to crawl over his hip.

"But," Malfoy stopped him with a hand on the middle of his chest, "I… I need to use the loo," he whispered, suddenly bashful.

"Oh. Me too, actually. I can probably pee an ocean." Harry smiled at Malfoy, letting him know there was no need to be embarrassed.

"You go first," Malfoy said. Harry was about to protest, but was silenced with a finger across his lips. "_Go_."

"Fine, fine, I'm going." Harry's feet were already on the scratchy rug when a sudden urge overtook him. He turned back, stretched towards Malfoy, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Malfoy's eyes widened and Harry's face felt warm. "Don't go anywhere," he said, only half-jokingly, and went to the loo.

"I couldn't go even if I'd wanted to," Malfoy called after him. "You know I'll never find my way out of Muggledam."

Harry peeked from the door. "_Good_."

After a bit of a battle with his own body and a rather uncomfortable peeing, brushing his teeth, and futilely trying to comb his hair, Harry stepped out of the bathroom. He caught Malfoy standing with his back to the tall mirror that was attached to the inner side of the cupboard door, looking at it over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Malfoy jumped and moved away when he heard him. "Nothing," he answered, a little too quickly. He did not meet Harry's eyes, and a sense of foreboding fell on Harry.

Walking slowly towards him, Harry asked, "I. Er. I didn't injure you or anything, did I?" He wished he had been gentler during their nightly activity.

"No, I'm fine. Really." Malfoy turned his back to the mirror again, craning his neck as he tried to inspect his rear. "It feels a bit strange, but it looks normal."

Harry looked at the white, perky cheeks. "Mmmm," he hummed in appreciation, a goofy grin plastered on his face. When he realised Malfoy was staring and smirking at him with an arched eyebrow, he ducked his head, climbed on the bed under the covers, and turned on his side to hide the evidence of his rising interest. He ignored Malfoy's sniggers until the sound disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Malfoy returned, and crawled beside him under the duvet, lying on his back with his arm and the side of his leg touching Harry's front. "Well, well, well. Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" he asked, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eyes.

Harry chuckled. "And you dare accuse _me_ of using corny, clichéd lines?"

Malfoy huffed indignantly. "Well, I never had the chance to use it before, as I never was with someone who had a… well. _Wand_."

Harry buried his face in Malfoy's chest, and laughed. It felt so wonderful being able to do that. When he raised his head again, they grinned at each other, and Harry could clearly tell that the glorious bliss that thrummed in his body and made his heart swell was equally shared. It was in the relaxation of Malfoy's body as Harry slid on top of him, and in the easiness in which he spread his legs apart to allow Harry between them. In the offhanded sweep of his fingers over Harry's nape that made Harry want to purr, the sparks in his eyes, and the wrinkles at their sides as he smiled – so openly and inviting.

It was the most breathtaking smile Harry had ever seen. Not just because Malfoy had perfect white teeth. Not just because Harry knew how marvellous that smile tasted. But because Harry knew it was real. He had never seen it on Malfoy before they met in Amsterdam, never imagined Malfoy was capable of it. It was… sweet. And human. Tearing his long-established impression of Malfoy to shreds, and leaving behind someone new, someone Harry was eager to get to know better and have at his side. Maybe even someone he would be able to… who knows? The future was wide open before them, full of promise.

Their mouths met halfway, lips – still stretched into smiles – brushing together, leisurely at first and then a bit more persistent as Malfoy's fingers tightened in Harry's hair and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. Malfoy tasted like Harry's minty toothpaste again. Soon the smiles were replaced with wet, gliding tongues and biting teeth and soft, throaty sounds that streamed down Harry's insides to spark fire in his groin.

As their bodies slid easily against each other, it was just as exciting and thrilling as the first time. Ever more, because now Harry knew it would not be the last. He knew there was no need to rush because they had all the time in the world, but Malfoy's hardness pressing against his belly was maddening – he wanted to touch it, to feel it, to _taste_ it. God, how he wanted to taste it.

"Can I suck you off?" Harry whispered breathlessly against Malfoy's swollen lips.

Malfoy's hips bucked and he made a needy, choked sound in the back of his throat.

Harry raised his head to look down into Malfoy's eyes. They were as dark as they had been last night, even though it was much brighter out. "I suppose that was a yes?" he asked, thrusting his hips to meet Malfoy's.

"That was a 'what the fuck are you still doing up here'!" Malfoy said and rolled his hips as if to make his point clearer.

Giddy with what he was going to do, though a bit apprehensive since he had never done it before, Harry gave Malfoy's sharp chin a small nip. "I'm never going to get a simple yes or no answer from you, am I?"

Malfoy made that needy sound again, and used the hand still clutched in Harry's hair to nudge his head down.

This wanton Malfoy was going to be the end of him. _And what a magnificent end it would be_, Harry thought. He beamed at Malfoy and pushed his head up against Malfoy's hand to capture his mouth in a fierce, searing kiss that left them gasping for air. Then he moved downwards.

Harry kissed his way down Malfoy's body, slowly and thoroughly, letting the softness of Malfoy's skin stroke his lips, and rolling its salty tinge on his tongue. Cool morning breeze blew in through the open window and mussed his hair, and then his head disappeared under the covers and between Malfoy's thighs.

Now _this_ was what Harry had expected his holiday in Amsterdam to be like.

_**The End** _

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Author's note: Thank you all for reading and sticking with me until the end! I hope it was worth it.  
Please don't hesitate to leave a review – feedback, concrit, flame; the good the bad and the ugly – whatever it is, I appreciate it a lot! ♥

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